


The Roles We Play

by adorkablephil (kimberly_a)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, BBC, Closeted Character, Eventual Romance, Family, Grief/Mourning, Historical, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Letters, M/M, Past Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Radio, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberly_a/pseuds/adorkablephil
Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester work together as voice actors for BBC radio dramas in the late 1930s, but slowly begin to develop “inappropriate” feelings for each other. (No characters die *in* this story, but there is some grief and sadness related to their deaths in the past.)





	1. Kathleen

**Author's Note:**

> I did a fair amount of research for this fic, but it is not entirely historically accurate by any means. It’s set in 1938-1939, but when convenient, I moved something by a few years this direction or that for my own purposes. When in doubt, I made shit up in order to just try to tell a good story. Also, the story will jump around a bit in time (a framing story is set in 2001, and it will include letters from other times in Dan and Phil’s relationship), but most of the story will be set during 1938-1939, when they first met and fell in love.
> 
> Many many many thanks to India, my most excellent beta reader!

**18 March 2001**

Kathleen Howell Banks unlocked the unfamiliar little terrace house with the key her mother had given her and went inside, surprised to find the place extremely tidy. She had worried that the home of two bachelors, especially elderly ones, might be a horrifying sight to behold, but this did not look like it would be a difficult job at all, as everything seemed to be quite organized. 

****

She only needed to sort through her great-uncle’s belongings and decide if there were any items of financial or sentimental value that should be kept, so that the rest could be donated to the charity shop. She wasn’t sure why she’d been the one sent to this task, since she hadn’t known Great-Uncle Dan very well—he’d never been very close with the family—and surely Grandad would have been the more appropriate person to go through his brother’s belongings, but he’d been unwilling, and so they’d sent Kathleen.

She’d been told that her great-uncle’s housemate had died only two weeks prior—a strange coincidence—but Kathleen expected that the other man’s family would have dealt with his belongings by now, so it should only be her great-uncle’s things in the home.

She did a quick walk-through, just to get her bearings since she’d never visited the house before, and was surprised that only one bedroom appeared to have been occupied. The flat’s other bedroom appeared to have been used as an office. Kathleen was quite sure she’d been told that her great-uncle had a housemate who had also died recently, but perhaps she had misunderstood? She felt a rush of vague, impersonal sadness for her elderly relative, living here all alone, emotionally distanced from his family, without even the friendly housemate her parents and grandfather had assumed lived here to keep him company. Had he often been lonely?

Everything seemed in good order. Great-Uncle Dan had died peacefully in his sleep a few days ago, and so there was no reason that anything should have been disturbed. The only thing that seemed out of place was an opened shoebox sitting on the kitchen table, where one of the two chairs was pulled out as if someone had been going through the box’s contents. The box seemed to contain an assortment of letters and other papers, perhaps mementos from an old love?

Kathleen found herself terribly curious, as Great-Uncle Dan had never married and had lived his entire life as a confirmed bachelor. Had some tragic affair of passion in his youth scarred him so that he could not love again? She sat at the table and told herself that she had been sent here to go through his things, so this was not an invasion of privacy—it was the task she’d been asked to perform. She picked up the piece of paper on top of the stack, which seemed to be a very brief letter.

-

_13 July 1939_

_Dear Daniel,_

_I hope I do not presume in my salutation, but it is true that you have become dear to me. Our friendship, in fact, is one of the most cherished parts of my life and I would do nothing to endanger it. If I have misunderstood your feelings, please disregard this letter, but if I have not, please know that I am_

_Yours,_

_Philip Lester_

-

Kathleen found herself puzzled by the letter. It didn’t seem to communicate anything at all, really, except a stilted expression of friendship from this unknown man, this “Philip Lester.” Why would her great-uncle have saved such an inconsequential piece of correspondence for so many years? It would be tedious in the extreme if she found herself wading through a shoe box of old dry cleaning receipts and electricity bills. Who knew what random things a senile old man might have considered worth saving for decades?

She reached into the box and pulled out what appeared to be another letter from the same person, based on the similar handwriting. She sighed and began to read.

-

_16 July 1939_

_My Dearest Daniel,_

_Thank you for your letter in response to my missive. I do realize that it may seem odd that I have only spoken of my tender feelings in letter form despite the fact that I have seen you in person since my first letter’s writing, but I have been uncertain about how my intentions might be received, and a less direct correspondence left me feeling less vulnerable at the thought of your potential rejection. Seeing your lovely brown eyes gazing at me over the microphone yesterday at the BBC during our radio broadcast left me in little doubt of your response, but I was still relieved and gratified to receive your letter today expressing your acceptance and reciprocation of my feelings._

_It is, of course, a delicate subject to address in person, as one might be overheard, and private meetings at either of our homes might be misconstrued. Or, rather, correctly interpreted and therefore dangerous to both our reputations. I am also aware of the delicacy of your own personal situation and would not wish to cause you distress or difficulty._

_Perhaps, for the moment, it is best that we confine such conversation to these private missives and maintain our public decorum among others at our place of work, at the club, and other such places where others might draw dangerous conclusions. But you cannot know the fullness of my heart I will feel now in your presence, remembering the words you have written and knowing the silent affection we share. Over the microphone at our workplace, over the chessboard at the club, I shall always feel in my soul the emotions your words have stirred in me through the letter I received from you today._

_Yours always,  
_ _Philip_

-

“Oh!” Kathleen said out loud. “Oh!” She went back and read the first letter again, understanding now what it so carefully implied. She then re-read the second letter and found herself wondering about the “delicacy” of Great-Uncle Dan’s “personal situation” … and then about his distance from the family her entire life. He had always sent cards at birthdays and Christmas, but she had only met him a few times. Was the “delicacy” of his “personal situation” the reason that Grandad refused to come sort through his things?

Kathleen found herself suddenly indignant on her great-uncle’s behalf. Was Grandad a homophobe? Had her great-grandparents also held their own son at a disapproving distance? She folded both letters with careful, loving hands and moved on to the next letter with hope for the growing romance between her great-uncle and this Philip Lester. She hoped things had turned out well.

It was only then, setting aside the next letter for a moment, that she looked out the window at the small garden behind the house and saw the two chairs side-by-side amongst the lush greenery—one of the men must have enjoyed gardening even in old age—and realized that she had never learned the name of Great-Uncle Dan’s “housemate.”

She now had a guess. A hope, anyway.


	2. Dan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Phil meet at the BBC in October 1938

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many many abject thanks to India for all her help with this chapter! (Not to mention all her help with "The Body Electric"!)
> 
> In case you aren't a literature/theater nerd, I've included some notes about the plays mentioned in this chapter. Just check out the notes at the end of the chapter if you aren't familiar with the plays and would like some context.

**28 October 1938**

Philip Lester was everything Dan wished he could be, from head to toe. His hair, though, was what Dan envied most. It was black and smooth, slicked straight back with Brylcreem so that he resembled that American actor—what was his name? Clark Gable. His facial features didn't resemble Clark Gable, though, because Philip had a more aristocratic face, with his elegant forehead, narrow nose, high cheekbones, and delicate lips.

Dan’s hair never got that sleek Clark Gable look like Philip Lester’s, no matter how much Brylcreem he used. The best he could do was a sort of Danny Kaye set of waves. And, just in life in general, Dan would really prefer to be a suave Clark Gable than a slapstick Danny Kaye.

He’d seen photos of Philip Lester before, of course, but actually being in the same room with the famous radio actor was a little overwhelming. The whole BBC situation felt overwhelming, but being in the same room with a celebrity he’d listened to and admired for so long made it much more so.

So, ironically, he chose a chair close beside Philip’s, because he knew that it would give him the least opportunity to stare. If he sat immediately beside the man, he would have to turn his head sharply to look at that sleek black hair, that pale skin, those striking pale eyes behind the man’s trademark spectacles—but if he sat further away, he might possibly find himself staring without realizing it, which would be utterly humiliating.

He looked at the script in his hands:  _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. He had read it in college, and had even performed it once in the West End, though he’d only gotten the role of one of the “Rude Mechanicals,” rather than Puck as he’d hoped. In this radio production, he would play Lysander, while Phil—with his comparatively lower voice and better established place in the repertory group—had the role of Oberon. He had fewer lines than Lysander, but more gravitas.

Dan pouted that he still didn’t get to play Puck.

“Hello,” Philip Lester said from beside him, making Dan jump. He turned to look at the other man, and maybe sitting beside him had been a mistake, because now he had to look at that handsome face from very close up. Philip was smiling and holding out his hand. “I’m Phil. You’re Daniel Howell, right? Playing Lysander?”

Dan nodded dumbly, unable to force out a single word. This was the voice Dan had heard through the radio in his living room for the past three years, but Philip—Phil—sounded different in person. He sounded less formal, more relaxed, which only made sense. Up until a few seconds ago, Dan had only ever heard that voice in professional radio broadcasts of dramatic productions.

Apparently unperturbed by Dan’s stunned silence, Phil shook Dan’s hand warmly, and Dan noticed how delicate and smooth Phil’s hand was. Dan’s own hands were soft—he’d never had to do any serious work—but Phil’s hand was pale and silky and … why was he obsessing over the texture of the man’s hand?

Dan shook his head to try to clear it and finally spoke. “Yes. Lysander. Right. Hello.” A staccato combination of words that were vaguely appropriate to the situation. Better than he would have expected of himself if asked for a prediction, if he was honest. Then he managed to add with a bit more composure, “Please, call me Dan.”

“Welcome to the BBC’s drama repertory company, Dan,” Phil said, squeezing Dan’s hand before letting it go. Or had Dan imagined that little squeeze at the end?

This hero worship was far, far out of control. He wouldn’t be able to tell Dora anything about the day’s events if all he was able to remember was the smoothness of Philip Lester’s hair and the silken skin of his hand.

Phil seemed to still be talking. Dan tried to listen and not just stare. “I assume we’ll be working quite a bit together. I hear they’re considering doing  _Oedipus_  next … just for a bit of light comedy after this weighty content, you know?”

A joke. Right, a joke! Dan laughed, maybe a bit more than was really deserved, but the famous Philip Lester was joking with him! And yes, they would most likely be working together quite a bit as long as they were both part of the repertory, so … Dan would need to get over this hero worship as soon as possible. It would make a working relationship nearly impossible if he was tripping over himself every time his co-worker smiled or made the slightest witticism.

Dan tried to think of something to say, but hadn’t come up with anything before the director called them all to order with a loud clearing of the throat. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we start with Theseus and Hippolyta, but you young lovers be ready to enter the scene.” That meant Dan, or rather, Lysander: one of the young lovers.

Dan sat a bit straighter in his chair. He had a fair amount of experience with stage acting, but this was his first actual radio acting job. They’d liked his audition enough to make him a conditional member of the repertory company, but he still needed to prove himself, and this was his first rehearsal.

Phil patted him on the shoulder and said in a low voice, “Don’t worry. You’ll do wonderfully. And, really, Lysander is just a sap, so if you don’t mind pretending to have a lower IQ than you have in actuality, you shouldn’t have any problems.”

Dan laughed again, this time with a bit less hysteria in it and a lot more blushing. Phil Lester had just called him intelligent. Or, at least, more intelligent than Lysander. Which, to be fair, didn’t set the bar all that high. But still … a compliment from Philip Lester. Phil.

Dan smiled at him and said, “Thanks. Oberon should be fun for you.”

Phil leaned close and confided in a hushed whisper, “Just between you and me, I’d rather be playing Puck.”

That surprised a genuine laugh out of Dan, since he’d felt the same way himself. “Me too!” he whispered back, but the director had lost patience.

“Mr. Howell, I understand that you are new to our proceedings, but we really do need a bit more peace and quiet to prepare to present the best auditory theatrical experience possible to our audience, as they rely upon us for edifying entertainment.” Dan wasn’t sure how edifying  _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_  was, but he supposed any Shakespeare was good Shakespeare. Then he remembered  _Titus Andronicus_  and grimaced. But he straightened his spine, gave the play’s director a serious nod and tried to keep his attention on his task instead of on the man sitting beside him.

“Sorry,” he heard Phil murmur. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I’ll let you focus.” Dan gave him a quick smile and tried not to be dazzled by the swirling pale colors of Phil Lester’s eyes behind the spectacles. Okay, no, the colors weren’t actually swirling. His irises just contained so many colors at once that they seemed almost like the marbled endpapers of an expensive book, including that bit of gold leaf that would make it most expensive.

Dan looked away and stared fixedly at the script in his lap, paging forward to see where his first lines appeared, and they began their first read-through of the script. When Dan got to the point where he read, “You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him,” he heard Phil snort beside him and felt proud that he’d made the other man laugh with his delivery of the comedic line. In fact, Dan had quite a few lines in the first scene of the play, whereas Phil’s character would not appear to commit his jealous mischief until the second act.

The group spent a few hours going through the first two acts of the play, with much commentary and many suggestions from the play’s director, Drury. Unfortunately, Drury seemed to have taken a bit of a dislike to Dan after his earlier joking with Phil, so Dan tried to stay as sober and solemn as possible for the rest of the proceedings.

* * *

When the rehearsal had finished, Phil immediately apologized with what appeared to be honest regret. “I’m sorry I distracted you so much! I didn’t mean to make your first day more difficult. I just wanted to make you feel welcome, but I fear our giggling antics may have annoyed Drury.”

Dan loved that Phil made it sound like they were schoolboys caught being naughty together.

Phil clapped Dan on the shoulder in a friendly manner and said, “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to speak to Drury before he leaves.” Phil smiled, then turned and walked to the director, who began conversing with him like an old friend. It was the first time Dan had ever seen Drury smile. Apparently he liked Phil. Who  _wouldn’t_  like Phil? It wasn’t merely Dan’s hero worship—Phil was just a likable guy.

Now that they’d been released from their duties for the day, the actors cleared the room pretty quickly, everyone bidding each other hasty goodbyes, but Dan found himself lingering conspicuously near the door while Phil spoke with Drury. Now that they were standing, Dan could see that Phil’s suit, though not particularly fashionable, was obviously expensive, very well-tailored and suited to his tall, slim frame. It made Dan aware of the comparative cheapness of his own suit. He followed current fashion trends avidly but, unfortunately, did not have the financial means to indulge his interest. It appeared that Phil Lester found himself in the opposite situation: financial means, but no taste. Dan quickly chided himself for the thought. It felt somehow disloyal, even though he’d only met the man a few hours ago.

Loitering near the door and watching surreptitiously, Dan saw Phil turn from his conversation with Drury, obvious intending to leave, but when Phil noticed Dan near the door, his expression showed first surprise, then pleasure. Dan startled, and his insides turned to jelly.

“You waited!” Phil exclaimed happily, walking to where Dan stood trying to look relaxed in his embarrassing cheap suit.

“Oh,” Dan replied, trying to sound casual, “I just … I wasn’t in a hurry, so I thought I’d wait, just to tell you what an honor it was to work with you today.”

Phil’s pale cheeks blushed, and Dan wondered how the man could still be humble enough to take such a simple compliment so much to heart. Surely he had encounters with admirers often enough, especially at BBC events. Why should Dan’s words carry so much weight?

“It was an honor to work with you, too, Dan,” Phil replied, holding out his hand to shake again.

Dan started to reach out, then shored up his confidence and suggested, “I thought perhaps we could take the lift down together.”

Phil let his hand fall and nodded with a smile. “We should be working together quite a lot in future, so it would be nice to know you as more than just the ridiculously besotted Lysander.” They began walking together toward the lift.

“You believe they’ll take me on as a permanent member of the repertory company?” Dan could hear the eagerness in his own voice, but he didn’t mind letting Phil know how high his hopes were.

Phil’s lips curved just slightly and he shook his head in disbelief. “You really don’t know how good you are, do you? I would assume after your work onstage in the West End, you would have more belief in your acting ability. Surely you appreciate your own talent?”

Dan pressed the button for the lift and avoided eye contact, hunching his shoulders slightly in embarrassment. “Well, radio differs from the stage, since we won’t have an audience’s immediate reaction to inspire and inform our performance. But also … I’m a bit of a perfectionist in my work. I study my lines obsessively, but I still never fully live up to how I want to embody a character. I perhaps set myself rather unrealistic standards, and so I just … it’s like I’m always failing myself.”

Phil put his hand on Dan’s shoulder and looked into his eyes, face serious. “You can’t go through life feeling like you’re always failing. You’ll never be happy.”

The lift arrived and they both got in, Dan regretting the need to pull away from Phil’s hand. Even through the fabric of his suit jacket, he’d been able to feel Phil’s warmth. But maybe that was just the man’s personality, and not his body temperature.

“I’m not a very cheerful or happy person, to be honest,” Dan admitted, wondering why he was opening up to Phil more than he had to anyone, even Dora.

The lift dinged when they reached the lobby, and they walked out into the evening’s sunset together. “You need to find a way to change that, Dan. You really do. You deserve to be happy.”

Dan tried to smile, but he could feel that the muscles of his face were too tense for it to possibly look natural. “I try.”

Phil looked around. “Hey, would you like to grab a drink before heading home? There’s a pub across the road.” Dan hesitated, but Phil cajoled, “Come on. Consider it part of the process of trying to be happier. Wouldn’t it cheer you to have a drink with the famous Mr. Philip Lester?” He grinned at Dan, who laughed.

“I can’t believe you just said that. Do you really think of yourself that way?” Okay, so yes, that’s the way Dan thought of him, but he’d been surprised to hear Phil say it.

Phil rolled his eyes. “Not for a second. But it’s how they parade me around at the BBC events, you know.” He shrugged dismissively. “But would you be interested in having a drink with just some guy named Phil?” He smiled and looked ridiculously charming. The sunset was glinting pink and orange off his glasses so that Dan couldn’t see his eyes. In the pub, the lighting would be better.

He knew he should go home to phone his parents and Dora to tell them how the first day’s rehearsal had gone, but instead Dan found himself nodding.

“Excellent!” Phil exclaimed, and lightly pressed a hand to Dan’s lower back to guide him across the street and into the pub.

* * *

“I’ll have a Pimm’s with ginger ale,” Phil told the bartender, “and my friend will have…” He glanced questioningly at Dan.

“Um,” Dan hesitated. He didn’t drink often, except tea and coffee. “I guess a gin and tonic?” The bartender nodded and got to work.

Dan and Phil seated themselves on adjoining barstools and their conversation lapsed for a moment.

“So…” Dan began, then realized with a sudden chill of panic that he had no idea what to talk about while relaxing in a pub with Philip Lester the rich, famous, well-dressed radio star. “Um … do you follow cricket?” Dan immediately wanted to bang his head against the bar.

Phil blinked in surprise. “Er, no. Not really. Are you an enthusiast of any particular team?”

“Not remotely,” Dan sighed in relief. “Thank the lord you said no, or I would have had to pretend I knew something about the sport.”

“Then why did you ask?” Phil looked at Dan with amused curiosity.

Dan shrugged and looked away, stirring the drink the bartender had just placed in front of him. “Just … trying to make conversation.” He took a sip, and found the drink bitter, which suited his personal style. He thought of himself as a rather bitter person, not easily prone to the lighter emotions. He eyed Phil’s sweet, fizzy drink and thought it appropriate, as well. “I wasn’t sure what you would want to talk about,” he admitted with chagrin.

“Well, definitely not sport!” Phil laughed. “Sport is the absolute  _worst_! I hated it in school, so why would I want to watch other people do it now that I’m not forced to do it myself?”

“I know! Exactly!” Dan enthused. He’d never heard his own opinion stated so succinctly before.

“So what  _do_  you like to do, if you don’t enjoy watching grown men dressed in white play childhood games we both loathe?”

“I … er … I like music,” Dan offered hesitantly. “All kinds. And I play the piano a bit.”

“Really?” Phil looked suddenly very interested. “I would dearly like to play an instrument. My parents hired tutor after tutor, trying to teach me one instrument after another, but I had no talent at any of them.”

“Oh, I don’t have much talent, either,” Dan insisted. “I don’t play well at all. But I do enjoy it.”

Phil took a sip of his sweet drink and shook his head gently. “You have so little faith in yourself,” he chided Dan gently.

Dan gazed into those pale eyes and realized that Phil Lester had more faith in him than he had in himself. It was an odd feeling. But he liked it more than he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you could use some help, I thought I’d explain some of the references in this chapter. In particular, I thought I’d point out a few notes about _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ : Oberon is the powerful but jealous king of the fairies who asks his clever, mischievous fairy servant Puck to pull a prank which goes awry. As a result of this prank, four rather annoying young humans (Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena) get duped into all kinds of silly romantic hijinks in the woods. The “Rude Mechanicals” are just some low class workmen who provide some slapstick comedy.
> 
> Oh, and about the other plays mentioned in the chapter: _Oedipus Rex_ is a classic Greek tragedy (hence Phil ironically joking that it would be light fare after something like _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , which is pure fluff); and _Titus Andronicus_ was Shakespeare’s first play, which most people agree was bad (also gross), which is why Dan grimaces after thinking that all Shakespeare is good.


	3. Dan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some changes to the tags. When beginning this story, I opted not to include anything regarding death in the tags, because no one actually dies in the story. But the fic does include references to grief and past character death, and I so decided I should warn people there will be some mild angst about that (starting in the chapter after this one).
> 
> I’ve blatantly stolen from Wikipedia in this chapter’s brief section on existentialism.
> 
> And, lastly, I cast no aspersions on cucumber sandwiches, as I personally adore them.

**6 November 1938**

After a solid week of grueling rehearsals with Drury as their slave driver, the actors finally broadcasted their first live performance of  _A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act I._

Phil didn’t need to be there, since his role didn’t have any lines until Act II, but the repertory group seemed to habitually come to every performance of a play in which they were cast, as if every member supported all the others with every broadcast. It was a lovely tradition, actually.

And so Phil was there, even though he had no lines to speak. Dan, on the other hand, had a great many lines, but his performance went off without a hitch, and he found himself smiling madly when the BBC sounded their tones to indicate the end of the broadcast.

Dan looked around at his fellow cast members, and everyone smiled at him and at each other. Men shook hands, patted each other on the back, and laughed heartily while the ladies gently touched each other on the arm and spoke softly but happily amongst themselves, their faces glowing with quiet pride.

No sooner had the immediate excitement begun to die down than Dan saw Phil approaching him. Face bright with excitement, Phil asked, “Would you like to go to my club for a bit? Celebrate the first day of the broadcast and all that?”

Dan bit his lip in indecision. He knew he shouldn’t. He had responsibilities and obligations. But this was an unexpected opportunity to get to spend time outside work with Phil again … how could he pass that up? Not to mention the fact that Dan had never been inside an actual gentlemen’s club before. The idea made him feel quite sophisticated.

Dan decided to throw caution—and responsibility—to the wind. “I would be honored,” he told Phil, and Phil’s face brightened even more. The fact that Phil actually seemed so pleased at the opportunity to spend more time with him made Dan positively giddy.

* * *

The club to which Phil belonged seemed very impressive to Dan’s eyes, all dark wood and polished brass. Apparently, most of the club was reserved for members, and only one front room allowed members to entertain their non-member guests.

This room contained several opulent-looking sofas and armchairs, as well as some small tables where Dan imagined food could be brought if members and their guests wished to dine. Perhaps half a dozen men sat scattered about the room, each sitting alone and occupied in some solitary pursuit, most of them apparently reading newspapers. Dignified silence practically echoed in the high-ceilinged room, with only the occasional rustle of pages turning to disturb the quiet.

Servants hovered in discreet locations, probably nearly invisible to members of the upper class who were used to such things, but very noticeable to Dan. His family had always been comfortable, but he was not accustomed to strangers hovering in the periphery of his vision at all times, waiting to satisfy his every wish at the slightest wave of a hand.

Phil navigated the room with obvious comfort and ease, as if accustomed to this opulence ... as he no doubt was. Dan found himself wondering about Phil’s home life before he’d come to fame as a radio star.

“Would you like some tea?” Phil asked as he guided Dan to a corner table with two comfortable leather chairs. He sat down, lounging comfortably, and continued, “I’m sure we could get something stronger if you prefer, but—to be honest—I myself usually prefer tea or coffee.”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Dan felt like a child at an adults’ social occasion.

Phil made a gesture with his hand, which in some secret language apparently meant, “Please bring us tea for two as soon as possible, my good fellow,” since tea service appeared almost immediately afterward, along with a plate of cucumber sandwiches and a bowl of fluffy whiteness.

Dan was not fond of cucumber sandwiches in general. He didn’t recognize the food in the bowl.

After the servant had left, Phil leaned forward to confide, “They always bring the cucumber sandwiches, even though they know I won’t eat them. But perhaps they consider popcorn insufficiently dignified unless accompanied by some traditional English fare.” He chuckled to Dan and assumed a ridiculously exaggerated upper class accent. “Pip, pip, my good man, you simply  _must_  have some elegant cucumber sandwiches with that uncouth American popcorn.”

“Must I?” Dan asked, teasing.

“Good gods, no! Ignore the horrid things and just go for the good stuff!” Phil dipped a hand into the bowl to pick up a few pieces of the stuff and popped them into his mouth, chewing with obvious relish.

“And ‘the good stuff’ is ... popcorn?” Dan asked. He’d heard of the snack, but had never tried it.

Phil’s face grew ecstatic. “The most sublime food imaginable! Try it for yourself. The crunch is just delightful!”

Dan took a few pieces and cautiously gave them a try. He had barely finished chewing and swallowing before he exclaimed to Phil, “This stuff is smashing!”

The other gentlemen in the room all glanced disapprovingly at Dan, and he abruptly lowered his voice, cowed by their simultaneous glowers. “You were right,” he whispered. “Anyone who prefers cucumber sandwiches over this stuff is clearly mentally imbalanced.” Phil nodded soberly, and then they both giggled before eating more popcorn together with much enjoyment and a complete disregard for propriety’s cucumber sandwich preference.

As they snacked, Dan noticed a nearby table with a chess board set up. Phil apparently noticed his glance. “Do you play?” he asked.

“I love a good game,” Dan admitted. “I don’t often find a good partner, though.”

“Then let’s test our mettle against each other,” Phil suggested, looking supremely confident.

Two hours later, thoroughly whipped, Phil made another suggestion. “Perhaps next time we could play a different game, since you so clearly outclass me at chess.”

“Do you only play games you know you’ll win?” Dan asked archly.

Phil rolled his eyes. “No, but I do prefer games I have a  _chance_  of winning. You utterly mopped the floor with me! I have no remaining dignity and shall have to return to my home in abject shame after this poor showing.” He shook his head in a pretense of dismay.

Dan just laughed at his antics. “I’d be happy to learn any games you wish to play, so long as they only require two players. I’m not particularly fond of larger groups of people, and none of the other members of your club seem to appreciate my company.”

Phil leaned close, and Dan could smell the sweet, spicy scent of his cologne. “To tell you the truth,” Phil said in a confidential tone, “I don’t much like the fellows here. But the club itself is a pleasant place to go when I just want somewhere quiet where no one will bother me. I can hide in a corner here for hours and never be disturbed.”

“You can’t get that kind of peace at home?” Dan asked, puzzled.

“Well, you see,” Phil explained, “at home, the phone may ring. And one must either instruct the servants to lie about one’s presence at home, or one must speak to the person phoning, and neither option appeals to me. The club’s policy forbids confirming or denying the current presence of any particular member.”

Dan nodded, impressed. “So it’s as if you can become socially invisible. Completely unavailable without offering any offense. Perhaps I need to find a club of my own.” Immediately upon saying it, though, Dan found himself embarrassed, because few gentlemen’s clubs admitted men of his social class.

But Phil frowned at him. “You would prefer to attend a separate club, rather than coming with me to mine? Do you wish to become socially invisible to me, as well?” His smirk implied a joke, but the tone of his voice sounded honestly hurt.

Dan reached out spontaneously to rest his hand on Phil’s on the table, just for one brief moment before he realized what he was doing and drew his hand back into his own lap. “Of course I would always prefer to be here with you.” That sounded too serious, too earnest, too vulnerable, and so Dan floundered on, “Even if it requires allowing you to believe that you can win games against me.”

Phil laughed again, the injured look in his eyes disappearing, replaced by a glint of approval and amusement.

“We’ll see about that arrogance,” Phil proclaimed firmly. “I’ll take you down a peg or two, just watch me.”

Dan nodded in mock seriousness. “You believe whatever you need in order to retain your confidence in yourself as a man and a game player.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You doubt me as a man?”

Flustered, Dan opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally exclaiming, “Of course not! That wasn’t what I meant at all! I’m so sorry!”

The other gentlemen in the room were positively glaring at Dan now, but he was much more concerned with Phil’s good opinion than with theirs.

Phil shook his head, smiling, and assured Dan, “I jest. Do not worry, Dan. It was merely a joke. I know you meant no offense.” Then, with an impish glint in his eye, he added, “Besides, no one could doubt the virility of my impressive manliness.”

Dan spluttered with laughter.

Phil confided, “I was going to say ‘manhood’ instead of ‘manliness’ ... but ‘the virility of my impressive manhood’ just ... some things are better not said.”

But some things were now certainly imagined. Dan laughed, but he could hear a bit of hysteria in the sound. He hoped Phil could not.

* * *

**15 November 1938**

The next time Phil took him to the club, they’d barely emerged from their taxi before Phil randomly exclaimed, “Dog!”

Dan looked around them and saw a man walking a corgi on a leash. Phil turned to the man and begged, “May I please pet your dog? I love corgis!” The man agreed with good humor, and Phil crouched to pet the brown and white dog, who seemed to enjoy the attention immensely. Phil looked up from his crouch to tell Dan, “The Royal Family have a corgi called ‘Dookie,’ so all corgis are basically royalty!” The corgi’s owner chuckled.

Dan could bear it no longer and asked the man, “May I pet your dog, as well?” And the man simply shrugged in amusement at these two grown men fawning over his dog in the middle of the pavement. Dan, too, crouched so that he could scratch the dog behind his ears, which seemed to go over quite well, as Dan got his face licked in response.

They did not want to overstay their welcome, however, and so Dan and Phil both stood to allow the dog and his owner to continue on their way with many thanks. “I love dogs!” Dan proclaimed as they turned toward the club’s doors.

“So do I!” Phil agreed as they entered the front room. He lowered his voice instinctively. “I’ve always wanted a dog, but I’ve never had one.” Phil guided Dan back to the same corner table where they’d sat the first time he’d brought Dan as his guest, and they took their seats. “When I was seven years old, I wrote my parents a ten-page letter on why I should be permitted to have a dog. It was ten pages of the sentence ‘May I please have a dog?’ repeated over and over again.” They both giggled, just as a pot of tea, a plate of cucumber sandwiches, and a bowl of popcorn were set upon the table between them as if by magic.

Dan eagerly took a few pieces of popcorn and chewed them with much delight. Phil placed a rather inelegant amount in his mouth all at once. For an obviously wealthy and well-educated person, he showed remarkably little snobbery or even elegance. Yes, his hair looked debonair and his suits were of excellent quality, but Dan would never have expected a gentleman of high social standing to excitedly pet a stranger’s dog on the pavement or to shove a handful of snack food into his mouth with such apparently unselfconscious glee.

“I don’t mean to make you envious,” Dan remarked, “but my parents have a lovely dog called Colin. He is most definitely the highlight of any visit to my family.”

Phil frowned after swallowing his popcorn, and Dan cursed himself for the possibly overly-revealing comment. Phil took a sip of tea, coughed a little, and asked, “Do you not get on with your family?” He drank a bit more tea.

Dan shrugged and tried to deflect the question. “They’re fine. What about you? Do you get on with your parents?’

Phil smiled broadly and nodded. “Oh, my parents are wonderful, and I’ve recently become an uncle, as my brother Martyn’s wife Cornelia gave birth to a baby boy just days ago!”

“Oh!” Dan proclaimed immediately, “We must toast the little fellow! Shall we request something stronger for the purpose?”

Phil shook his head, explaining, “I was honest when I said that I really do prefer tea and coffee. I’m not a very sophisticated drinker, I’m afraid.” Phil said all this as he placed three entire lumps of sugar into his tea cup.

Dan grimaced. Phil had done this their first time here, as well, but Dan had been too shy to comment on it. He felt more comfortable with Phil now, however, and so asked with an amused smile, “Isn’t that quite a lot of sugar? Can you actually drink tea that sweet?”

Phil widened his eyes, making their fantastical color only more striking, and insisted, “I’ve already told you: There’s no such thing as ‘too sweet.’”

“If you say so,” Dan replied with a dubious and exaggerated shudder. It made Phil laugh.

Phil raised his disgustingly sweet tea and suggested, “Would you mind toasting the newest member of the Lester clan with tea?” Dan shook his head and raised his cup obligingly. “To Steven Bartholomew Lester!” Phil declared. “May he grow up to be a fine and elegant young man, leaving me the only eccentric in the family!” Dan chuckled, and they clinked their cups together and sipped in honor of the babe’s birth.

“I wanted them to name him Sylvester,” Phil said after a moment of solemnity out of respect for the child’s no doubt very bright future. Dan nodded, then thought a moment and frowned.

“You wanted your brother to name his son ‘Sylvester Lester’?” If he’d been aghast at the amount of sugar Phil put in his tea, it was nothing compared to this.

Phil giggled delightedly. “I think he would have been the most popular child at school.”

Dan laughed, recognizing Phil’s sense of humor now, almost as if they really knew each other. He really did feel as if he was beginning to know the man, rather than just the famous radio star. And Philip Lester was nothing at all that he would have expected. He found that he liked the real Phil much better than that elegant idol. “I’m sure he would have,” he responded dryly, and Phil giggled again, the tip of his tongue showing at the corner of his mouth. That was one of those inelegant things that Dan had come to love.

Love? No, that wasn’t what he meant. It was one of the things he’d come to  _like_  about Phil.

They barely knew each other. And Phil was a man.  _Like_. That’s what he’d meant. Not  _love_. Obviously.

* * *

 

**23 November 1938**

Dan felt quite comfortable walking into the club at Phil’s side now, as this was actually his fifth visit. He and Phil had begun to make it something of a habit, coming regularly just to snack on popcorn, play the occasional game of chess, and talk about whatever happened to cross their minds. Phil showed remarkably little interest in politics and literature, but professed a love for the horror stories of someone named H. P. Lovecraft, whose work was published only in American pulp magazines. At university, Phil had met a young American fellow who had come abroad to do his degree at Oxford, and they had become fast friends. The American had left England to return home upon the completion of his education, but he still sent Phil regular shipments of Lovecraft’s work as it was published.

As he and Phil took their accustomed seats at their accustomed table, Dan admitted, “I don’t read fiction very often.” He hesitated, not wanting to sound pretentious, but then decided that he trusted Phil not to think less of him. “I read primarily philosophy, though I did recently read a new novel by Jean-Paul Sartre.” Phil pushed away the plate of cucumber sandwiches that had appeared, and the both snacked on some popcorn while waiting for the tea to steep.

“What’s the book about?” Phil asked with obvious interest.

“Well,” Dan hesitated. “It’s called  _Nausea_.”

Phil made an exaggeratedly disgusted face. “It sounds … er … delightful.” Then he lost control of the giggle Dan had seen hovering on his lips.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Would you like to hear about it or not?”

“Yes, yes!” Phil insisted, pouring the tea and acquiring his usual three lumps of sugar. “I want to know what you enjoy reading. I’ve bored you halfway to Hades with all my talk of monsters. It is your turn to bore me with talk of nausea!” His tongue peeked out of the side of his teasing smile. “We even have the plate of cucumber sandwiches as illustration!” Phil grabbed the plate and put it between them, gesturing at it elaborately while urging Dan. “Now. Please do tell me more about nausea.”

Dan couldn’t help but chuckle. “The novel isn’t really about nausea. It’s an existentialist consideration of the ways the world encroaches on our ability to define ourselves.”

Phil’s eyes looked a little glazed. “Existential consideration…?” he repeated blankly.

Dan waved a hand in some impossible attempt to explain an abstract concept. “Existentialism focuses on the disorientation, confusion, and dread of trying to live an authentic life in a meaningless and absurd world.”

Phil bit his lip and nodded hesitantly. “I think I understand the confusion part, anyway.”

Dan shook his head and chuckled. “Never mind. It’s just … it’s a philosophy that interests me, because I find it rather difficult to find a way to live a truly authentic life in a world with so many ridiculous rules and expectations. You seem to live your own life authentically without the same kind of difficulty, and so perhaps this makes little sense to you, but I sometimes find myself experiencing what you might call an ‘existential crisis.’ I just don’t know how to even define the truth of myself, let alone live it.”

Phil pushed the plate of unpalatable sandwiches aside and took Dan’s hand from where it rested on the handle of his teacup. “You are living your true life, Dan! You are pursuing your dreams!”

Dan looked away, disturbed by the reassuring warmth of Phil’s hands and words. “I … I try. But I find it a struggle. Every day it is a struggle to find my truth, and to live it. There are some truths more difficult to face than others, less socially acceptable.” He pulled his hand away and picked up his cup, though he could see it shaking in his grip. He drank a bit and found the bitter liquid fortifying. He placed the cup back in the saucer and reached for the popcorn. “But you promised me a distraction.”

Phil slowly let the concern fade from his face, though he seemed reluctant to drop the subject. He was so kind—of course he would worry about a friend who said such things. Dan resolved never to speak of his existential concerns to Phil again, as he did not wish to worry his friend unduly. It was simply a personal issue with which he had wrestled for years, with no end in sight.

“Goofspiel!” Phil declared.

“God bless you,” Dan replied.

“It’s a card game of pure strategy. I think you’ll enjoy it.” Phil made a gesture to a nearby servant, who approached their table. Phil asked him to acquire them a deck of cards, which were then quickly provided.

Phil taught him the game, and it was, indeed, very intriguing, with complex strategy and occasional dramatic plays. “No!” Dan cried aloud when Phil devastated him with a particularly clever play. “I was so close!” He tossed his cards down on the table and crossed his arms in a fit of pique.

A very self-important man in an expensive suit approached their table a moment later and said firmly but quietly, “I am afraid we must ask that you leave the club, gentlemen.” He cast a dubious glance toward Dan at that last word. “Your raucous behavior has for some time disturbed the other members, but today’s actions have convinced the management that this simply cannot be tolerated any further.”

Dan felt horribly embarrassed, but he watched as Phil simply rose to his feet and popped another handful of popcorn into his mouth. He looked at Dan and gestured expansively toward the front door. Dan rose and walked, head hanging low, through the room of smug-looking prigs watching their shameful expulsion with obvious satisfaction.

They emerged into the blue-gray of twilight. Dan stared at the pavement as he said morosely, “I am so sorry for causing you to be ejected from your own club, Phil. I’m certain you’ll be welcomed back … as long as I am not with you.”

Phil swallowed audibly, and at first Dan thought it caused by emotion … but then realized the other man was probably simply finished chewing that last rebelliously-grabbed handful of popcorn. “Oh, no,” Phil replied lightly. “I shall be finding a different club.”

Dan looked into his face and insisted, “No, Phil! I know they would still value your company and your membership!”

Phil shrugged. “Well, I don’t value an establishment that does not appreciate and welcome  _you_ , so there we are. I shall find a different club.”

Dan felt his jaw drop, then quickly closed his mouth to avoid looking like an idiot. He gazed helplessly at Phil’s beautiful face and felt a stirring in his heart and soul.

A stirring that most likely indicated an existential crisis in the making.


	4. Bernice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kathleen meets a neighbor

**18 March 2001**

Kathleen should have gone home about an hour ago, but she’d found herself unable to put down the letters emerging from the shoebox. She needed to know more! She wanted to know how it all turned out … and yet she wasn’t willing to cheat by skipping to the letters in the bottom of the box. She wanted to read each in its turn, following the story as it had unfolded in these men’s real lives.

She had also fallen hopelessly in love with Great-Uncle Dan and wished desperately that she’d gotten a chance to know him. If Phil Lester’s letters to him were any indication, Daniel Howell had been an incredibly wonderful person well worth loving.

Picking up her phone, she called her husband to tell him what was happening. He, too, expressed curiosity and urged her to stay as late as she liked. He would give the kids their dinner and even put them to bed if necessary. “No,” Kathleen objected. “I’ll be home before bedtime, I promise. I just want to read a few more letters.”

“Order in some food,” her husband, Stuart, insisted. “Look on their fridge. Even crusty old men probably have takeaway menus on their refrigerator. Have some dinner, read some more letters, and come home when you’re ready. You can always go back tomorrow to read more. Or bring the box with you.”

Kathleen shook her head, even though she knew Stuart couldn’t see her. “It would feel wrong to take the shoebox out of the house,” she explained. “I can’t explain it, but I don’t even want to move it off the table. My great-uncle had it open here—left it here perhaps the night before he died in his bed—and it seems disrespectful to move something so precious to him away from where he left it.”

“Well,” Stuart replied slowly, “you  _will_  eventually have to sell the house. And probably the table, as well.”

Kathleen laughed. “I know. I don’t need to leave it here forever … just … maybe until I’ve finished reading all the letters. Then I can pack them up and take them home. Save them somewhere special.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Stuart agreed gently. He was a good man. “Just make sure to eat something and don’t stay too late. Remember, you can go back tomorrow.”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’ll see you in perhaps two hours.” They said their goodbyes, and Kathleen wandered into the house’s tidy kitchen. All of the cabinet doors were slightly ajar for some reason, so she shut them. Such things disturbed her sense of order, and she wondered why her Great-Uncle Dan would have left the doors open like that. Did he honestly not notice or care? Or had it been some odd personal choice she could not understand? Did he have some reason for preferring them that way?

As Stuart had predicted, there were indeed a number of takeaway menus on the refrigerator. The one on top was for Domino’s Pizza, so Kathleen decided to order from them in honor of this house’s former occupants and their apparent culinary preferences. She phoned and was asked if she would like the usual order for that address, with all the dips. “Er … no,” she replied, and then ordered herself a simple, small pepperoni pizza. She also helped herself to some Ribena from the kitchen, where she found an entire drawer full of bottles of the stuff. It helped her feel more connected to them, as if she were somehow drinking their favorite drink with them. She raised her glass in a toast to Daniel Howell and Philip Lester, still uncertain whether Philip had been her great-uncle’s “housemate” or if Dan had found some other love later in life. She very much hoped that this had been Dan and Philip’s home together.

Waiting for the food to be delivered, sipping her glass of Ribena, she returned to the kitchen table and eagerly picked up the next letter.

-

_4 August 1939_

_My most beloved Daniel,_

_In my lonely house at night, I think only of you. I re-read your letters and hold them to my heart. I think of the sweet words you have written and wish that I could hear them spoken by your lips._

_I fear I am utterly besotted. Will you laugh at me? I think not, for I believe you share the intensity of my feelings, but I sometimes feel so alone, isolated in my inability to speak to you on these topics directly. Every time your eyes meet mine, I feel as if I have missed a step on a flight of stairs, as if I am suddenly falling. And, as when falling, I am not entirely without fear, but I like to imagine my fall ending with me landing in your arms._

_Fancifully yours,  
_ _Philip_

-

There were many such papers: some proper love letters and others simple short notes. Kathleen’s pizza arrived, and she began eating absentmindedly, her attention still primarily on the letters from the shoebox. She held them far away from the pizza, however, lest pizza grease stain anything. She would rather risk pizza sauce falling on her own clothing than besmirch her great-uncle’s love letters.

-

_18 September 1939_

_My Beloved Daniel,_

_Today during the radio broadcast, you touched my hand by chance, and I found myself momentarily unable to speak. You may perhaps be a negative influence upon my career, and yet I want only to feel the touch of your hand again and again. I want to hold your hand in mine and press a gentle kiss to your palm._

_With these thoughts in mind, I will seek sleep tonight in my lonely bed and mail this upon the morrow so that I may hope to inspire dreams of you as long as the letter remains in my possession. In truth, I dream of you most nights, and expect tonight will be no different. I hope you also dream of me._

_Yours always and forever,  
_ _Philip_

-

The doorbell rang again, surprising Kathleen. She looked at her watch to see that it was now early evening, and she should really leave this work behind and return to her family soon. She wondered who might be at the door, and so went to answer it. An older lady with bright red hair showing gray at the roots smiled in a very friendly fashion from the doorstep. “You must belong to one of my boys,” the woman said unexpectedly.

“One of your boys?” Kathleen repeated in confusion.

“Oh, my, yes. My Danny and Philly. Much older than me, of course, but still my boys. I’m Bernice, their neighbor these past … oh … more than twenty years. Nearly thirty, now, in fact.” The woman shook her head sadly, then reached out to take Kathleen’s hand and pat it gently between her own. “You must feel their loss even more keenly than I do.” And then somehow the woman was coming into the house, though Kathleen could not remember having invited her by word or by gesture. Bernice boldly went into the kitchen and made herself a glass of Ribena, then commented softly, “Oh. Someone closed the cabinets. Was that you?”

Kathleen nodded. “I don’t know why they were all open; perhaps a flaw in the construction? But seeing them all open like that bothered me, so I closed them. Why do you ask?”

Bernice smiled sadly. “It always bothered Dan, too. Phil was always leaving the cabinets open, and Dan always chided him about it. They bickered like the old married couple they were, you know.” Kathleen was happy to hear her hopes realized: It was Phil Lester with whom her great-uncle had gotten to spend his elder years. But the odd woman had continued speaking, her voice quiet and reverential. “After his dear Philip died, though, I came every day to visit poor Daniel to make sure that he was eating properly. He grieved so deeply, you know. I noticed the open cabinets and asked him about it, and do you know what that sweet boy said? He told me, ‘If the cabinet doors are open, then I feel like Phil might still be in the house, so I daren’t close them or face the fact that he is truly gone.’ Of course, he himself was gone not long after. Couldn’t live without his love, I think. They were the closest two people I’ve ever known, those two.”

Feeling a sudden upwelling of affection for this woman who had apparently cared deeply for the two men Kathleen had only begun to know through the letters, she smiled and said, “I’m Kathleen Banks, Daniel Howell’s great-niece. I didn’t know him well, and I didn’t know Philip Lester at all, so I would love to hear stories about them. I do wish I’d had the chance to know them before they died.”

Bernice looked Kathleen up and down and replied tartly, “Looks to me like you had at least forty years of opportunity, missy. It’s a mite late to be regretting now.”

Kathleen blushed, feeling as if she needed to explain herself to a woman she’d never even met before 10 minutes ago. “Great-Uncle Dan was estranged from the family my entire life, and I didn’t even know that Philip Lester existed until I began reading his letters today. My family told me that Great-Uncle Dan lived with another Army pensioner to help pay the rent, but that was obviously a lie. Given the way my family seems to have treated him, I don’t know if he would even have been open to knowing me.”

Bernice put her hands on her sizeable hips and shook her head in disbelief. “Well, of course he would have, child! It was only his own family that wouldn’t have  _him_! Or, at least, that’s what dear Philly told me over tea one time when Dan was away. His mother’s funeral, I think it was, and Phil said it was one of the few times the family would even let him near. But of course Phil could not go with him. Danny never talked about his family, but I know Phil hurt for him.”

Kathleen frowned deeply. “I didn’t know,” she told Bernice. “No one ever talked about him, and I guess I was just busy with my own life, and I never thought…”

“Yes, yes,” Bernice interrupted her brusquely. “None of you ever thought of him. But that boy still had a family that loved him.”

Kathleen wanted to ask what family Bernice was referring to, but Bernice had walked up to a photo on the wall and smiled broadly at it. “Oh, those dogs. They loved those dogs. They’ve been gone 10 years or so now, but sweet Danny and Philly kept their photo on the wall.” Kathleen went to look and saw a photograph of two very happy-looking corgis with tongues lolling in doggy smiles at the camera. “The boys walked those dogs twice a day, every day, and it was often the only time they left the house. They liked their own company, you know—didn’t go out much. If I hadn’t stopped by so often to bring them proper food, they would have had pizza delivered every night.”

Kathleen glanced guiltily at the kitchen table, where her pizza still sat a safe distance from Dan’s pile of keepsakes.

“Oh,” Bernice breathed, having followed Kathleen’s glance toward the table. “Dan’s box of memories. He went through that every day near the end. I can only imagine the things he loved deeply enough to save all those years and bring out constantly during those final days.” She sighed, sniffed, and quickly wiped a hand across one of her eyes. She cleared her throat and added, “Well, I suppose it’s only fair that someone from his family be permitted to read the things he held most dear, though the whole lot should most likely be given to those what loved him when you’re finished.” Bernice gave her a steely-eyed glance.

“I think I’ve been coming to love him by seeing him through Phil’s eyes,” Kathleen admitted. “I wish so very much that I hadn’t lost a chance I never even knew I had. He seems like a really lovely person.”

Bernice laughed. “Oh, he was a crotchety old goat much of the time, unlike his sweet Philly, but that Dan had a heart of gold under all that bluster. I do wish you had gotten to know him, as you seem like you might be one of his few relations that might have brought him joy.” Bernice paused. “As long as you loved Phil equally, of course. There was no Dan without Phil, no Phil without Dan. They were a matched pair, and you wouldn’t have gotten a second glance from your great-uncle if you didn’t accept that Phil meant the world to him.”

Kathleen felt tears sting her eyes. “I think that may be why he became so estranged from the family. I think there may have been family members who couldn’t accept their relationship. That’s my guess, anyway. But I can promise you this: If I had ever gotten to meet the Phil Lester who wrote those letters, I would have hugged him even more tightly than my own Great-Uncle Dan. I feel as if prejudice within my own family stole them both from my life, never giving me the opportunity to know them.”

“Oh, pooh!” said Bernice with a dismissive hand gesture. “They wouldn’t have wanted much company anyway! They liked to be on their own, in their own little world, just the two of them.” She seemed to see something in Kathleen’s face and added, “But if you ever want to hear stories about them, get to know them a bit after the fact, you come visit me any time you like. I live just next door at number 18.” Bernice went to wash out her Ribena glass and left it upside down in the dish drainer. “I should be getting home now. I just wanted to see who was over here, since I saw the light on and got curious.” She stepped close and shocked Kathleen by kissing her lightly on the cheek. “You seem a sweet girl. Come see me anytime you’d like to hear about your uncles, because I loved those boys dearly and will never tire telling stories about them.” She smiled sadly again, gave Kathleen another quick kiss on the cheek, and then opened the door and left without another word.

Stunned, Kathleen sat down again at the table. The congealed pizza no longer looked remotely appetizing, and she hated seeing it so close to those delicate and precious documents her great-uncle had saved so carefully. She put the remaining pizza in the refrigerator, knowing that she would be returning tomorrow and might be willing to snack on it then.

Just a couple more letters, she told herself. Maybe two more, then she would head home. There was still plenty of time before the kids needed to go to bed, and Kathleen didn’t want to leave quite yet, not after that emotional conversation with the neighbor.

-

_31 December 1939_

_My love,_

_I was, of course, distraught to see you leave so soon after that most precious moment, but I know that you must spend part of the festive season with your own family. I cannot have your attention every moment of every day, no matter how much I may desire it. Please know that you are in my heart and in my thoughts always._

_As I write this, I know that I shall see you this evening for our New Year’s Eve broadcast. I will see your lovely brown eyes turn to me and I will know the emotions and the memories behind that glance. We may shake hands or I may rest a hand upon your shoulder, but those small touches contain a multitude of emotions._

_We start the new year by turning a beautiful new page. We may find ourselves not in a position to express our feelings as openly as we might like, but we two know the truth and share its inestimable beauty._

_Yours most devotedly,  
_ _Phil_

-

Kathleen couldn’t help wondering about “that most precious moment,” and quickly picked up the next envelope, only to find that it did not contain a letter. Or, rather, it contained a  _form_  letter with relevant details stamped in ink.

-

_NATIONAL SERVICE (ARMED FORCES) ACT, 1939_  
_ENLISTMENT NOTICE_  
_Date: 15 JANUARY 1940  
_ _Mr. DANIEL JAMES HOWELL_

_DEAR SIR,_

_In accordance with the National Service (Armed Forces) Act, 1939, you are called upon for service in the ARMY and are required to present yourself on MONDAY 29 JAN 1940, at 10 a.m., or as early as possible thereafter on that day to:_

_RINGSTEAD BARRACKS_  
_MILL HILL_  
_RINGSTEAD  
_ _DORSET NW7_

_A Travelling Warrant for your journey is enclosed. Before starting your journey you must exchange the warrant for a ticket at the booking office named on the warrant. If possible, this should be done a day or two before you are due to travel._

_A Postal Order for 4s, in respect of advance of service pay, is also enclosed. Uniform and personal kit will be issued to you after joining H.M. Forces. Any kit that you take with you should not exceed an overcoat, change of clothes, stout pair of boots, and personal kit, such as razor, hair brush, tooth brush, soap and towel._

_Immediately on receipt of this notice, you should inform your employer of the date upon which you are required to report for service._

_Yours faithfully,_  
_James Alistair Davies  
_ _Manager._

-

Kathleen found herself almost physically ill at the phrasing of the closing of the letter. “Yours faithfully”? Among all these letters from the truly faithful Phil Lester, a bureaucratic form from the British Army sending Daniel Howell off to World War II with a “Yours faithfully” made Kathleen nearly lose the pizza she’d eaten earlier.

She decided this was an excellent time to go home to the warm arms of her loving husband, who wouldn’t mind if she cried a little bit over events of decades past.


	5. Dan

**10 December 1938**

They had just wrapped up the repertory company’s meeting about upcoming projects, and Dan and Phil gravitated toward each other as always. They greeted each other happily, and Phil suggested that they adjourn once again to the pub across the road, since he had not yet acquired a new club he felt he could tolerate. Or, Dan wondered, perhaps the difficulty was finding a club that would tolerate  _Dan_. The thought should fill him with shame, but instead filled him only with warmth.

They entered the pub, finding it nearly empty at this early hour of the evening, and Phil ordered a Pimm’s with lemonade, while Dan ordered an old fashioned. “You definitely like your sweets, don’t you?” Dan teased.

“And you like your bitters,” Phil rejoined. “Do you consider yourself an old-fashioned sort of fellow? Because you seem quite modern to me. If I understand any of your philosophical ramblings well at all, you seem quite advanced in your ideas.”

Dan looked down into his drink and swirled it slightly, staring at the ice as it floated in the amber liquid. He held up the glass to the light and focused on the pleasant aesthetics of the sight rather than on Phil’s words. Finally, he felt the pressure of Phil waiting for a reply, and he said only, “I may be more old-fashioned than you realize. Sometimes there are pressures on us, responsibilities…” But he trailed off. He didn’t want to think about any of that when he was spending time with Phil.

“Well, at least it looks as if there will be plenty of time for us both to celebrate a good old-fashioned Christmas! Since neither of us have roles in either of the next two productions, we shall both have plenty of time to visit family for the holidays!” Phil said with obvious good cheer.

“Oh. Right. Christmas.” Dan sobered again, dreading the holiday. Pressures. Responsibilities. It seemed they would not leave him alone today.

“Why so downcast?” Phil asked. “Christmas is my very favorite time of the year!”

“It just means visiting my family,” Dan explained, not wanting to go into detail. “I spend as little time there as possible, but cannot avoid the holiday entirely without offending them.”

Phil looked concerned a moment, then suddenly pointed a finger at Dan and said with great enthusiasm, “You should come spend time with my family and me!” Dan frowned and began to object, but Phil interrupted him. “You shall have a proper Christmastime, even if you must spend the day itself with less cheer.”

Dan hesitated, not wanting to invite himself along to another family’s celebration, but he wasn’t inviting himself, was he? Phil was inviting him. “Are you sure your family would not object? I would not want to intrude on your family’s private gathering!”

“Oh, nonsense!” Phil replied. “I can guarantee that my family would love to have you. The more the merrier, as they say. And so you shall simply make it an even merrier, happier Christmas than usual.”

Dan bit his lip in indecision.

“We always have snow for Christmas up north,” Phil said persuasively.

“Are you from the north?” he asked Phil in surprise. “You don’t have the usual accent.”

“Years at Oxford helped with that,” Phil replied. “And then I moved to London soon afterward. If I wanted a career in radio, I had to work very hard to rid myself of the northern accent or I would have had great difficulty finding work.”

Dan nodded in understanding. A proper, educated southern accent was rather a requirement for most stage and radio. Though he had not attended university himself, Dan was well-read and grew up fairly near London. He was articulate enough to obtain stage and radio work with less effort than Phil had needed to expend.

“So?” Phil pressed. “Will you come for the holidays? At least until you must go to visit your own family?” He smiled hopefully.

Dan could not help the grin that spread over his own face at the prospect of spending the holiday time with an entire family of Phil-like persons. “If your family agrees, then I would be honored. When would you like to leave?”

“Could you be ready in three days?” Phil asked eagerly.

* * *

**13 December 1938**

On the train to Manchester, Phil sat in the window seat, reading a magazine called  _Weird Tales_. He explained to Dan that it was the most recent shipment from his American friend, and that the magazine contained stories from a number of authors, not just H.P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft was simply Phil’s favorite.

Dan was reading Martin Heidegger’s  _Being and Time_. Though he’d often heard it described as a seminal work of existentialism, he himself doubted whether it deserved that reputation. It did not seem to him to fit into the existentialist field of philosophy at all, but he still found it engaging on its own merits.

Occasionally, Dan looked up from his book to glance surreptitiously at Phil’s face profiled against the sunlit countryside outside the train. Or, at least, he intended his glances to be surreptitious, but Phil almost always turned to smile at him.

When the train stopped in Manchester, Dan saw that Phil had not misled him about the snow. The entire world was blanketed in it, far more thickly than ever accumulated in London, or even in Wokingham, where he had grown up.

Three adults rushed forward on the platform, each hugging Phil tightly. After hugging them, Phil stood tall and said, “Mother, Father, Martyn, may I present my very good friend Daniel Howell.”

Both of the men shook his hand, and Mrs. Lester pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You are very welcome to our home, Mr. Howell.”

“Oh, please, call me Dan,” Dan insisted.

“Dan, then,” Mrs. Lester replied with a sweet and gentle smile. “We are so happy to have you.”

They climbed into the Lesters’ automobile, which barely fit the five of them. “Mother and Father wanted to leave me at home so that there would be more room in the car,” Martyn explained to Dan from his seat on the other side of Phil, “but I insisted on coming. It has been too long since I’ve seen my brother! And the three of us young men can squash together, can we not?”

Dan loved the informality and friendliness of the Lester family immediately. He felt more welcome than he ever had at his own home, a thought he immediately dismissed, because he did not want to allow such ideas to in any way color this pleasant time with Phil’s family.

Mrs. Lester turned from the front seat to explain, “You shall meet Cornelia at the house. She stayed home with baby Steven, as we did not want to expose him to such weather!”

“Of course!” Dan exclaimed. “Why, the babe must be only one month old!”

The Lesters eyed him with surprised approval. Phil’s brother, Martyn, replied, “You are quite right, good fellow. My son turned one month old only yesterday. I am honored that you remembered. Unless,” he glanced at Phil, “perhaps my brother reminded you during your voyage?”

Phil shook his head, smiling proudly at Dan. “No. I haven’t reminded him at all since we first toasted the child’s birth together.”

Dan blushed, feeling that he had somehow revealed something simply by remembering Phil’s nephew’s age. But the Lester family seemed happy, so he tried to let his awkwardness fall away.

When they arrived at the Lesters’ home, Dan caught his breath. He’d had the impression that Phil came from a wealthy family, but the house and grounds were still finer than he had expected, a true mansion with stables and acres of open land surrounding it. He’d never seen anything like it.

Once he stepped inside, his feelings of insecurity diminished as he saw how homey the place was. The furnishings might be expensive, but they were not the focus of the warm, welcoming home. The Lesters had decorated every room with not only the traditionally festooned tree in the main sitting room, but also numerous wreaths, holly branches, and other festive adornments throughout the house. Candles burned on tables and mantels, and a hearty fire warmed them all as they came in from the cold.

A woman with short curling hair sat by the fireside with an infant bundled in her arms. She turned to greet them with a welcoming smile as they came in removing their snow-speckled coats. “You must be Mr. Howell,” she called out, not waiting for a formal invitation. The informality fit well with the overall feel of the Lester family and their comfortable home.

“Please, call me Dan,” Dan asked again, as he had at the train station. He decided to follow her example. “You must be Cornelia, and that young fellow must be Steven.” He removed his scarf along with his coat and hung them both up with the others.

Cornelia Lester nodded and reached out an eager hand toward him. “Dan, please come meet the newest Lester,” she called to him.

And thus was Dan welcomed into Phil’s family’s home with more warmth than he had expected, and perhaps more than he had ever experienced. Something inside him melted and became softer than it was before.

* * *

**23 December 1938**

A few days before Christmas, Dan was shocked to find that Phil’s family had put presents for him beneath their tree, presents they insisted that he open before he left. He had not brought anything for them and apologized profusely, feeling shamed. But they all hurriedly reassured him that they had not expected a stranger to bring gifts to their home, that these gifts were meant only to make him certain of his welcome.

One of the gifts Dan unwrapped was a large, oatmeal-colored jumper that reminded him a bit of a potato sack. Obviously homemade, it made Dan smile with genuine pleasure at the kindness and effort that must have gone into the gift.

Mrs. Lester seemed rather flustered as she hurried to tell him, “I’m afraid it might be a little large for you, dear, but I did knit it rather quickly. Our dear Philip only told us two weeks before you arrived that he planned to invite you, so I did not have as much time as I would have liked.” She cast a reproving glance at her son.

Two weeks beforehand? Phil had spoken to his mum about the invitation that long before he’d brought it up with Dan? Like Phil’s mum, Dan shot Phil a glance, but his was questioning rather than reproving.

Phil looked down at his lap, his pale cheeks pink, and said nothing.

Dan assured Mrs. Lester that he loved the jumper and knew it would prove extremely comfortable. He promised that he would wear it often, always remembering who had made it for him and appreciating her thoughtfulness.

“I only wish you could stay through Christmas Day itself,” Mr. Lester said with obvious regret. “We would enjoy very much having you here with us on the day, but we mustn’t keep you from your own family. Still, I am glad you were able to stay with us as long as you have.”

Dan, too, wished he could stay longer. But they drove him to the train station the next morning, and he left that warm and welcoming home to return to the one of his birth.

* * *

**27 December 1938**

On the train to London from Reading, leaving Wokingham further and further behind him, Dan leaned his head against the window and wished that Phil were sitting beside him reading one of his odd American magazines.

Heidegger’s book on philosophy sat neglected in Dan’s lap as he mused unhappily on how far society’s expectations reached, and how deeply they conflicted with his own truth, the truth within his heart. He could not live an authentic life in such a world. How could he be himself, truly himself, surrounded on all sides by such dogmatic assumptions?

Well, not  _all_  sides.

He lived his truth when he had Phil near, or at least tried. He did not feel cowed or defeated with that cheerful presence buoying him up. But the Lesters’ home, and Phil himself, were many miles away.

And Dan was alone.

Upon arriving back at his London flat, Dan took to his bed and rarely left it for nearly three full days. He did not cry, for men were not meant to cry—he merely stared at the wall and wished that he could cease to exist, that he could vanish. Nothing in his life felt real or genuine. It was all a sham, an effort to perform according to roles other people had determined for him.

How appropriate that he had chosen acting as his profession! It seemed all he knew how to do. Put on an act. Behave as others expected of him. Never from the heart, never from his true desires.

His eyes were dry, but his heart ached in his chest, and his entire body and mind felt hollow.

He wondered if Phil ever felt this way, and knew he did not. If Phil felt this way, he would cry. He would reach out to those who loved him and seek their support, for Phil lived an emotionally open and honest life, a life Dan could never live.

He wished he could be more like Phil. But he knew it was impossible for him. He could only be himself, doomed to a life of disappointment in himself and in the world.

The new year would begin in only a few days, and he wished he could begin his life anew, that he could turn the calendar page and start a new life in which he could be himself without fetters or limits. But he knew his family, and society at large, would never allow it.

He stared at the wall, and slept, and woke, and stared at the wall again. Eventually, it would be time to return to the BBC, time for him to play the roles expected of him once more, and he would smile. At least, at the radio show, everyone knew he was acting and expected nothing else.

* * *

**3 January 1939**

After a couple of serious dramas in a row—including Ibsen’s  _A Doll’s House_ , which was not only depressing but had also involved very few characters and so had not provided a role for Dan at all—Phil and Dan had been cast together in a BBC production of Oscar Wilde’s  _The Importance of Being Earnest_. Immediately upon hearing the news, Phil had enthused to Dan what a fan he was of Oscar Wilde’s work. “There’s a man who appreciated a good pun! And a good witticism!”

Now they were reunited after the Christmas holiday, and Phil embraced him warmly. “I phoned you as soon as I returned to London, but you were never in.”

Dan had, in fact, been in, but he had not been able to motivate himself to answer the phone. He couldn’t face anyone yet. Not until he had to. Not until it was time to don the mask again. He wasn’t ready for that. Not even with Phil.

Phil enthused again about his love of Oscar Wilde’s work and this play in particular. “He was such a talent! A Shakespeare of his day!”

Dan made an attempt at a chuckle. “I’m not sure I’d go that far, Phil. Wilde did not, after all, produce any works such as  _Hamlet_  or  _Macbeth_. But, then, he did not have so many years to write as he should have.” An awkward silence followed. Oscar Wilde’s downfall had been a great scandal, still whispered about throughout Dan’s childhood. The social and legal dangers of open homosexuality had been made clear to him from a very young age. Dan regretted bringing up the subject, as people still talked about the whole sordid business only in hushed whispers, and he and Phil did not usually discuss politics or social issues, let alone ones that had such disturbing elements. Phil was a fairly cheerful, lighthearted fellow, and Dan hated to drag him down into conversation about subjects that might make him uncomfortable.

Perhaps he should return to discussion of the play itself. They had, in fact, been given the two leading roles and had many scenes together, which he swore to himself would be great fun. It was Dan’s most significant role in the repertory company thus far, and he was determined to make them proud.

Dan tried to cheer himself by thinking of his favorite scene, one in which he and Phil exchanged a fairly long bout of repartee during a moment of crisis, including Phil’s character exclaiming in frustration, “How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can’t make out. You seem to me to be perfectly heartless.” To which Dan’s shiftless, indolent character replied, “Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to eat them.” He loved the clever phrasing and wit. Many of Dan’s lines in the play challenged him to restrain his own amusement and urge to chuckle. But that was part of acting, part of playing a comedic character, especially in a play with such dry humor: the ability to deliver lines with a straight face (or voice) so that he could allow the listeners to interpret the humor for themselves.

He found himself suddenly glad that they were performing this play now, instead of a more melancholy one. He wasn’t sure how he could have borne that so soon after his family visit.

“I’ve always admired Wilde’s involvement in the Aesthetic Movement, but I also feel that they took it a bit too far.” Dan just couldn’t help himself. He thought about weighty issues and wanted to discuss them with the man who had become his closest friend. “It is all fine and good to appreciate beauty for its own merits, but social issues and themes are also important in life! As Wilde’s play asserts in its very title, it is also important to be earnest, not simply idle and clever, not simply to wear a beautiful mask. Wilde was mocking the concept, but I believe earnestness—true emotional authenticity—is truly crucial to living a good and meaningful life.”

Phil nodded, though Dan doubted that he truly cared about the topics Dan so often expounded upon. He cared about Dan, and so he listened, but Phil lived a life less focused on philosophy. That wasn’t to say that he was superficial—he just lived his life more authentically and openly. Instead of thinking about how to be a good person … he just  _was_. By his very nature. Dan admired that. Admired it very much.

“You are a good example,” Dan stated, and Phil frowned at the sudden introduction of himself into the discussion he had probably not been listening to that closely. “You appreciate the beauty of life, but you also live your live with the greatest earnestness of anyone I have ever known. You truly care about people.” Phil’s frown had faded, and he now gazed at Dan with a soft expression. Dan grew uncomfortable with his own sincerity and so added, “And dogs, of course. And the squirrels in the park.” Phil laughed, which was exactly the response Dan had hoped for. “You care about the world, and you aren’t afraid to show it. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.” Damn, there he went with the heartfelt proclamations again.

Phil’s face had grown even more serious and tender. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but Dan interrupted awkwardly, “But, yes, it is an entertaining play, and it shall be great fun to be the Algernon to your Jack.” Dan had been cast as the younger, more superficial character who was close friends with a slightly older and more responsible fellow. It wasn’t all that far from their relationship in real life.

But Dan tried not to think too much about their relationship. Like Algernon and Jack, they were good friends. The best of friends, even in such a short period of time, and Dan had never had a best friend before. Other than the days since Dan had left the Lesters’ household at Christmas, they had seen each other almost every day, even outside of work, and it seemed as if they had known each other forever, rather than only two short months. Dan felt he could tell Phil anything.

Or …  _almost_  anything.

* * *

**5 January 1939**

Dan had thought that  _The Importance of Being Earnest_  would cheer him, but when in rehearsal he heard Phil speak the line “Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward to,” he hated himself a little. Because sometimes he believed that a passionate celibacy might be more honest than following the societal expectations of marriage and children.

Phil, obviously concerned about Dan’s morose attitude since the holidays, approached Dan after the rehearsal and suggested that Dan come over some night soon to his own house for a proper meal. He knew Dan made do on his own, but he promised that his own cook was excellent and would prepare for him anything he wished. “What is your favorite dish? She shall make it for you.”

Too shy to make any requests, Dan simply insisted that anything would be fine. “It is very gracious of you to invite me,” he said more than once, because he felt a bit embarrassed to be invited again to such a fine home with servants. Even after his holiday time with the Lester family, he still felt nervous at the prospect of expensive art on the walls and furniture he should not sit on because the chairs were priceless antiques. He worked himself into a froth of anxiety over the event, so it was good that Phil had suggested the date only a few days in advance, giving Dan less time to work himself into a state of panic.

* * *

**7 January 1939**

When Dan arrived at the door, he rapped with the brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. Phil himself came to answer the door, which helped Dan relax a bit. He had expected some stuffy, sour-faced butler. “Come in, come in! It’s wretchedly cold out there tonight! I loathe the cold when there is no snow, and we most likely won’t see snow here for another month, at least!” He helped Dan remove his overcoat and hung it near the front door.

He bustled Dan into a warm lounge with a cheerful fire burning in the fireplace. Dan was pleased to see that the furniture, though fine, did not appear to consist of priceless antiques. Not that Dan had a great deal of experience with identifying priceless antiques. He hadn’t noticed any at the Lesters’ home, but there had no doubt been some lurking around, disguised as perfectly normal furniture.

“I wish I had a piano,” Phil mourned. “I would dearly love to hear you play.” Dan felt simultaneously awkward and flattered that Phil was so interested.

Dan chuckled self-consciously and quoted one of his character’s lines from  _The Importance of Being Earnest_ : “I don’t play accurately—any one can play accurately—but I play with wonderful expression.” Dan laughed a bit and then added, “Which is to say that I don’t play very well at all, so you’re not missing out on anything impressive.”

“I should still like to hear you,” Phil insisted.

A woman some twenty years Phil’s senior entered the room wearing an apron and cap, clearly a servant of some sort. “Mrs. Jameson says dinner shall be ready within the next half hour,” she told Phil, and curtsied to Dan.

“This is Gemma,” Phil said with a smile. “She has worked for my family since I was a boy. Mother and Father sent her with me when I moved to the city so that she could make sure I did not misbehave.”

“Sent me to pick up your socks, is more like it,” Gemma replied pertly. She looked at Dan and gestured toward Phil. “This one will leave socks on the floor wherever he likes, and doesn’t even notice. This morning I found one just outside the door to his chamber. What possesses a young gentleman to discard a sock in such a place?” She eyed Phil expectantly, and he looked contrite.

“Mother and Father sent her to browbeat me,” Phil confided in a stage whisper, clearly intending for the older woman to overhear. “She shows absolutely no respect whatsoever.”

“I’ll show respect for you, young man, when you earn it. When you learn to put your socks in the laundry like a proper gentleman. I may be a servant, but I am not a slave to go about picking up your clothing from random parts of the house.” Her words were somewhat harsh, but the woman’s expression was decidedly fond.

“Thank you, Gemma, for helping me keep a respectable and presentable home,” Phil replied with much fondness of his own. “Without you, I would never be able to invite guests lest I be cast out of society for slovenly housekeeping!”

Gemma preened. “Yes, I do keep a fine house. I’m glad you recognize the fact.”

“I would be helpless without you. I admit it freely,” Phil said with a smile. “It has been the case my entire life.”

“Well, you needn’t go too far, young man. You’ll turn my head. Now, let me duck back into the kitchen to see if Mrs. Jameson needs any assistance. I’ll make sure she’s including those cheese-stuffed mushrooms you love so much.” With a smirk, she curtsied to them quickly and left the room.

Dan was confused by that little smirk and so turned to Phil with an eyebrow raised. “They both know I hate mushrooms and cheese,” Phil explained, rolling his eyes. “They tease me about it mercilessly.”

“Will there be muffins?” Dan asked impishly. “Because, if so, I shall be sure to avoid eating them in an agitated manner. I wouldn’t want to get butter on my cuffs.” Phil laughed, then pulled him along on a brief tour of the house, which was a bit large for one person but not ridiculously so, and which contained a solarium full of beautiful plants of all shapes and sizes. Ferns and small flowering trees and many plants Dan had never even seen before. “This is so amazing!” he told Phil, and he could hear the wonder in his own voice.

“I love plants,” Phil told him, “I so love to come sit in here when I’m at home. But I have an embarrassing secret to tell you.”

Dan leaned forward eagerly.

“I have a terrible brown thumb. When I try to take care of the plants myself, they all die. So Gemma and Mrs. Jameson do it. They’ve never admitted it to me out loud, but I know they do.” Phil walked down the narrow path, trailing his hand gently along some ferns, then turned to look at Dan. “You see, I could hire a gardener to come in to take care of the solarium, but that would mean admitting that I can’t do it myself, and I think these two lovely old ladies don’t want to make me feel incompetent, so they sneak around behind my back to keep these plants beautiful. I know they do it because they love me, and they know I love the plants.”

Dan shook his head in awe. “You inspire a special kind of love from people. No wonder they take care of you like that. Will I get to meet Mrs. Jameson, as well?”

“Oh no,” Phil replied regretfully. “She’s terribly shy and hates to be brought out of her kitchen. I only get to talk with her by going in there to bother her. She says I leave the cabinets open on purpose to tease her, but I promise it’s not on purpose. I just forget.”

Dan thought about what his household would be like if he had servants, what his relationship with them would be like, and he simply could not imagine this easy camaraderie, people taking care of each other out of affection and not simple financial transactions. He couldn’t imagine anyone loving him the way they loved Phil.

The meal was lovely, and Dan asked both Phil and Gemma to pass along his compliments to Mrs. Jameson. The men retired to the lounge after the meal and sat talking for a while. Dan told Phil about the latest book he’d been reading, and he felt lucky just to have a friend who didn’t mind him talking endlessly about subjects dear to his heart that didn’t seem to matter to anyone else. He’d never had anyone else willing to just  _listen_  before.

“Perhaps sometime soon I can have you over to dinner to thank you for the lovely meal,” Dan suggested. “Then I could play the piano for you, if you really wish to hear it.”

Phil looked surprised. “I didn’t know that you cooked. I mean, proper meals.” Phil blushed, obviously afraid that he might have given offense.

“No, you’re right,” Dan admitted. “I’m a terrible bachelor, living off beans on toast and such, but Dora will be coming to the city for a visit soon, and I know she would love to meet you. She would be happy to cook for us, I’m sure.”

Phil tilted his head in question. “You’ve mentioned Dora before. Is she your sister?”

“No, definitely not my sister,” Dan laughed uncomfortably. It wasn’t as if he saw Dora very often, so the whole thing didn’t feel like a part of his real life. He glanced away, then back at Phil, who gazed at him expectantly. He didn’t think Phil would care, but it still felt awkward that he hadn’t brought it up before now. He tried to smile. “Dora and I are engaged to be married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) was an Irish poet and playwright, and _The Importance of Being Earnest_ is probably his best-known work. His downfall (including his eventual imprisonment and death soon afterward) stemmed from his openness regarding his homosexuality. There’s a whole long story about that, but you can look him up on Wikipedia if you want to learn more.


	6. Dan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, in particular, gave me some trouble (due to rl stress), and India was my total hero.

**8 January 1939**

Dan arrived at rehearsal the next day only to find Phil unexpectedly absent. He waited and waited, watching the door, because he and Phil usually chatted a bit before the rehearsal started, but that tall, slim form never appeared.

“Mr. Lester has been called away on urgent business,” Drury announced at the start of the rehearsal, making Dan start. He looked around in hope of some explanation. “It is regrettable, of course, since he plays one of our most important roles in this production, but Mr. Joseph Walker will be reading his part during the rehearsals until Mr. Lester is able to return. He fully expects to return before we broadcast on 18 January, but if he is unable to be present by that time, or if he is unable to attend enough of the rehearsals, then Mr. Walker will read the role of Jack in his place.”

Dan had great difficulty focusing on the rehearsal and flubbed his lines several times. Drury grew increasingly impatient with him until finally he simply cut the rehearsal short, sniffing disapprovingly, “I hope we shall all find ourselves more fully present and focused tomorrow.”

Unsure what to do, Dan went home and phoned Phil’s house. Gemma answered the phone, sounding coolly polite as she informed him that Mr. Lester was with family at present and might be away for some time. When Dan pressed for more information, she simply told him that Phil had given her no estimated date of his return and that there was not, to the best of her knowledge, any family tragedy involved.

Phil had simply decided he must spend some time with his family.

He’d said nothing about this the previous night when they’d been chatting after dinner, so something must have come up quite suddenly. And Dan did not understand why Gemma seemed so much less friendly. Was it perhaps that her easy, teasing demeanor depended on Phil’s presence? Or was it something so simple as feeling more formal on the telephone than in person? Whatever the reason, it made Dan uneasy. He had been looking for reassurance in phoning Phil’s home, but had received none. He knew it would be inappropriate to request the phone number of the Lester family residence, so he did not ask, no matter how much he longed to do so.

Had the baby suddenly fallen ill? Dan hoped dearly that young Steven was safe and healthy. Or Mrs. Lester? He thought of the woman gently kissing him on the cheek at Christmas. He thought of each of Phil’s family members in turn and fervently wished them all well.

Most of all, he hoped that Phil himself was well. Why had he not phoned? Why had he sent Dan no message whatsoever? Why had he simply left without a word?

Dan changed out of his suit and into a comfortable pair of slacks and the oatmeal-colored jumper Mrs. Lester had knitted for him. He curled up on the sofa in his lounge under a thick blanket and sent all his anxious good wishes winging toward the north.

* * *

**13 January 1939**

After what seemed an interminable length of time, Phil reappeared at rehearsal one morning, and Dan immediately ran to him. “Is everyone well? Is young Steven in good health? Are your parents well?” he asked in a torrent of words, voicing all his worries of the past week.

Phil smiled a little, though he looked rather more pale than usual and a little sad. Phil did not reach out to rest his hand on Dan’s shoulder or arm as he had so often done in the past, but just looked down at the floor and then back into Dan’s eyes. Dan braced himself for the worst.

“I’m sorry I left you with such uncertainty,” Phil apologized, but he seemed distant. He had been gone from London for days, but the tone of his words now made him seem even further away than he had been yesterday, despite their now being in the same room. “I just … needed to be with my family for a time. But they are all well. You needn’t have worried.”

Dan frowned. “But of course I worried! You left without a word, and all I knew was that you had returned to the north to be with your family. You’ve never done such a thing before, so I assumed something serious must have happened.”

“As I said, I apologize for worrying you. They are all well, and … send you greetings.”

Dan felt terribly confused. “Are  _you_  quite well, Phil? You seem … different.”

But Drury called the rehearsal to order, and Dan never got a real answer to his question.

When rehearsal had finished, Phil left abruptly without bidding Dan farewell.

Dan spent another evening on his sofa, wearing the oatmeal-colored jumper for comfort, trying to remember the happiness he had felt with Phil and his family at Christmastime, only a few weeks ago. He heated a tin of soup for dinner and went to bed quite early, though he lay awake, unable to fall asleep, for a very long while.

He did not understand what had gone wrong.

* * *

**14 January 1939**

When Phil arrived at rehearsal the following day, his smile seemed a bit more natural, less forced, and he chatted with Dan both before and afterward as was their usual habit, though he did still seem slightly subdued. He did not suggest that they go to the pub or otherwise spend time together that evening and simply took his leave after some polite chat.

Dan stared after him, feeling lost.

* * *

**18 January 1939**

Drury decided that Phil had been gone for enough of the rehearsal time that it would be best to have Joseph Walker play the role of Jack. Phil graciously acquiesced, but Dan himself felt quite put out. Phil had been so excited to perform this particular play, and he himself had so looked forward to their characters’ lively banter … playing opposite Joseph Walker was a tremendous disappointment.

When he heard Joseph Walker’s aristocratic voice speak the line, “Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward to,” he wanted to weep. At least previously he’d had a beautiful friendship with Phil, even though he knew it could never be anything more than that.

Now it seemed he had lost even the friendship. Had he done something to offend Phil? And, if so, why did Phil not simply tell him what he had done, so that they might clear it up? Surely they were good enough friends to weather a storm or two?

At least, Dan had thought they were.

* * *

**24 January 1939**

“Would you like to stop by the pub for a drink before heading home?” Phil asked after the repertory company’s business meeting to discuss upcoming productions and potential casting.

Dan looked at his friend in surprise. This was the first time since the dinner at Phil’s house, more than two weeks ago, that Phil had initiated any social interaction beyond a polite chat at the BBC. Dan had tried to suggest that they spend time together once or twice, but Phil’s apparent lack of interest had discouraged him. Always a bit in awe of Phil, even after they had become more comfortable with each other, Dan had been hesitant to continue asking after being rebuffed.

So Phil’s invitation to the pub felt like rain in the desert. “Yes,” Dan agreed eagerly. “Yes, I would love to have a drink with you. I’ve missed our time together.” He bit his lip, worried that he had said too much, but Phil smiled faintly.

Phil’s cheeks looked a bit pink when he admitted, “I have missed you, as well.”

They went to the pub across the road, as they had done on previous occasions, and Phil ordered his usual sweet cocktail. Dan ordered an old fashioned.

“Old fashioned again,” Phil commented for no apparent reason.

“Yes,” Dan replied. “I rather like them.” He took a sip.

“I’ve never been much of an old fashioned man,” Phil said, and then took a sip of his sweet concoction. His face looked surprisingly melancholy for such a banal conversation.

“How are your family doing?” Dan asked, still puzzled about what had happened with all that.

Phil smiled. “They’re fine. You can stop worrying, Dan. I’ve already apologized for alarming you. I just … I needed to be with them for a while. But I’m back now.” His eyes still looked troubled. “I would not want anything to adversely affect our friendship,” he said seriously. “Your regard means a great deal to me, and I’ve come to enjoy our time together very much.”

“Of course nothing would affect our friendship,” Dan replied, concerned. “Why should it? Is something the matter? Did I … was it me? Did I do something?” This was the question he’d most feared to ask, afraid of what Phil might say, but Phil only shook his head, looking down into his drink and stirring it absently.

“No.” He glanced at Dan and then away. “No, of course not. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He met Dan’s eyes, and Dan could not read his expression, but it certainly was not a happy one. “You’re a good man.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t go that far!” he joked.

Phil smiled at him and reached out to rest a hand on Dan’s shoulder for the first time in weeks. “I would.”

* * *

**27 January 1939**

They were doing Shakespeare again:  _Hamlet_ , this time. Phil, as one of the BBC’s most enduring stars, had the title role. Dan had been assigned the role of Horatio. Drury seemed to like Dan and Phil’s easy camaraderie and so had taken to quite often giving them roles as characters who were friends. Horatio was a plum role for Dan, probably more prestigious than any other role he had played in the repertory company thus far, so he was quite excited. His character appeared in almost every scene, as did Phil’s, so they would be spending a great deal of time together in rehearsal, and Phil would be able to indulge his love of puns again. Despite being a tragedy,  _Hamlet_  was chock full of wordplay.

The role assignment meeting drew to a close, and everyone stood up from the table. Dan walked to Phil’s side and asked casually, “Care for a drink at the pub?”

“Er … I’m going to a film this evening, actually.” Phil flushed and looked away in apparent embarrassment. “Nothing that would interest you, but I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Oh,” Dan tried not to let his disappointment show. “Going with some friends?”

Phil’s flush deepened a bit. “Despite what you may think, I don’t have a large number of friends. And I’m not acquainted with anyone who shares my interest in horror films, so I’m attending the film showing alone.” He tilted his chin up a bit, as if feeling defensive. “There is nothing wrong with a man going to the cinema on his own.”

Dan raised his hands in surrender. “No, of course not! There’s nothing wrong with attending a film showing alone. Unless, perhaps, a friend might like to join you?” He smiled tentatively. It seemed a risk to invite himself along so brazenly, but he and Phil had been carefully finding their footing again, returning slowly to the easy comfort of their friendship, and so he was willing to take the chance.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Phil protested immediately. “It’s nothing intellectual or philosophical. Nothing intellectually challenging at all. Just a frivolous bit of something frightening, for you know I love a good horror story.”

“I do know that,” Dan replied. “And while my reading tastes may differ from yours, I must admit to enjoying a good horror film. Not all my tastes are so fussily pretentious, you know.” He grinned at Phil.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were pretentious!” Phil gasped in denial.

“Of course not,” Dan’s grin grew wider. “That’s why you were going to invite me to come with you to see … what is the film you’re seeing this evening?”

“It’s called  _The Face at the Window_ ,” Phil replied, sounding very unsure of himself. “Are you certain you would want to go to a horror film?”

“It will not be the first, nor that last, that I watch with pleasure. I love a good scare! Having your company will only make it all the better.”

After a long hesitation, Phil eventually suggested, “Well, if you are certain, let us get a taxi. We may get dinner near the cinema, if you like.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Dan replied honestly, and he felt as if everything in his world had fallen back into place.

* * *

**10 February 1939**

Despite Phil’s extensive social connections, it had taken him some time to find a new club that suited him. “You must come,” he insisted to Dan. They’d gotten over their mysterious awkwardness entirely now and were as close as ever. “They have an actual gaming room which allows non-members! They’re much less snobbish than my previous club. I don’t know why I ever tolerated that place—it must have been the popcorn.” Phil tapped a finger against his chin. “Perhaps I shall be able to persuade the new club to forgo the cucumber sandwiches.” Dan laughed.

Phil’s new club had two rooms in which non-members were permitted: a quiet lounge similar to the one at Phil’s previous club, and a gaming room complete with a billiards table. The gaming room was noisier than the lounge, since men played games in pairs or small groups, but everyone still kept their voices low.

Dan and Phil played a game of billiards—primarily for the novelty, as they’d never played the game together before—but then returned to their favorites: chess and goofspiel. They played a round of each, chatting quietly over their games, until Phil made some remark that made Dan laugh inappropriately loudly. He clapped a hand over his mouth, then made a silent grimace of apology, but Phil told him, “I love how you throw your head back when you laugh with your entire being. Few people appreciate life enough to show that kind of joy. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Let them look.”

“I don’t really think of myself as a joyous person,” Dan objected.

Phil shook his head. “But when you laugh like that, the truth shows through. There’s joy in your heart. There may be sadness there, too—and you may not see it yourself—but the joy is there.” Phil’s blue eyes shone with intensity.

The heart Phil spoke of beat faster. As he had told Phil upon their first meeting, Dan did not think of himself as a particularly cheerful or happy person, but he had experienced more happiness since meeting Phil than he had any other time in his life.

“It’s because of you,” he told Phil honestly. “I’ve never had a friend like you, never known anyone who made me laugh the way you do. So thank you. Thank you for bringing more joy to my life.”

Phil looked down and blushed. Dan became aware of the intimacy and sentimentality of their conversation and glanced around self-consciously at the men scattered around the room playing chess, billiards, bridge, and other card games.

“Have you discovered yet whether they serve popcorn at this club?” he asked to dispel the seriousness of their interaction.

“Alas, they do not,” Phil replied, looking up again, having regained his composure. “But I simply cannot tolerate an establishment that excludes my most valued acquaintances, regardless of how fine the snacks they offer.” They both chuckled. “I shall simply have to ask my own cook to learn how to make it.”

At that precise moment, a servant appeared at Phil’s elbow and spoke quietly into his ear. Phil’s eyebrows rose, and he nodded with a smile. After the servant had left, Dan asked, “What did he ask you?”

“You shall see,” Phil responded mysteriously. But only a moment later, the servant returned with tea service and a bowl of popcorn, all of which he placed to the side of their table so it would not interfere with their games. Phil explained, “Apparently, when I inquired about it at my first visit, the club considered my request and decided to add popcorn to their menu. I like this club better and better!”

“And no cucumber sandwiches,” Dan pointed out with a chuckle.

“No cucumber sandwiches!” Phil exclaimed, making other men turn their heads to look at them.

Dan smirked and said, “This time it was you who were too loud.”

“Somehow,” Phil replied, “I get the feeling that this club will not be so quick to evict us. I think less and less of that previous club. What a bunch of stiff-necked prigs! I’m so glad you exposed their true nature. Why, I might have continued quietly among their company indefinitely if you had not discomposed them with your utterly inappropriate, raucous behavior.” He giggled, his tongue showing at the corner of his mouth.

Dan looked at his friend, at the beauty and elegance of his features even as he delighted in life like a child, and thought,  _Oh no. No. I cannot feel this way. Not for_ ** _him_** _. I must not lose his friendship, but I know such would surely happen if he were ever to know. I cannot feel this way. I_ ** _must_** _not feel this way._  He shuffled the cards so that he had a reason to look away from Phil’s face. He watched his hands for a long moment as they manipulated the deck of cards.

“Are you quite all right?” Phil asked, sounding concerned.

Dan looked up, forcing himself to look at his good friend’s face with a bland expression, and replied, “Of course.” He forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He looked down to shuffle the cards a few more times, though they were no doubt thoroughly mixed by now. He hoped Phil did not notice how his hands shook. He looked for something to say, anything except what he was thinking. Something proper. Something appropriate. Something a man in his position was expected to say. And then he remembered. “Dora will be arriving in London in two weeks to visit her aunt. She’ll be in town for a month, so we should be able to arrange that dinner soon. I know she looks forward to meeting you.”

With his eyes so determinedly focused on his hands and the cards, Dan missed the shadow that passed across Phil’s face as he cleared his throat and replied stiffly, “Of course. Of course. I’m sure it will be lovely to meet her.”

* * *

**28 February 1939**

Even with Dora in town, Dan did not see her often, and still spent much of his free time with Phil. He called on her at her aunt’s home three times during the first week, however, to make sure that he did not seem inattentive or unappreciative of her presence, even if their engagement was primarily just a convenience for both of them. They just did not have a great deal in common and spent much of their time together discussing old school friends in Wokingham. Dora still saw them all often, as few of them had moved away as Dan had done, and so she told him all the news about their lives.

Dan had never been close friends with any of them, and many of the men she spoke of so happily were those who had bullied him when they were boys, but he pretended interest.

Dan had never been close friends with anyone before Phil.

Eventually the scheduled evening came when Dora prepared dinner for them and Phil came to visit. Dora was all aflutter as they waited for Phil to arrive, smoothing her carefully waved blonde hair and applying fresh lipstick. She kept repeating how excited she was to meet a true radio celebrity, which Dan found hurt his feelings a bit. He now appeared on the radio as often as Phil, often as his co-star in their dramatic productions on the BBC, but Dora did not consider him as worthy of regard?

No one in Wokingham ever had considered him worthy of much regard. That was why he had left.  _One_  of the reasons.

Phil arrived at the door looking handsome and elegant in his well-fitting but not-quite-fashionable suit and hat. Dan took his hat and overcoat, hung them up, and then turned to introduce him to Dora, who hovered nervously in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Dora, allow me to introduce you to my friend, Philip Lester. Phil, allow me to introduce my fiancée, Dora Williams.” Phil bowed to Dora and smiled.

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Williams,” Phil said with a friendly smile. Not the smile Dan usually saw, not the smile reserved for  _him_ , but the smile Phil showed to strangers and work acquaintances. Dan felt surprise that he could so easily differentiate between Phil’s different smiles. Then he tried to focus on the social situation rather than aspects of Phil’s face.

Dora nervously plucked at the skirt of her flowered dress and smiled at Phil so that her dimples showed. Many in Wokingham had called Dora and him a matched pair because of their dimples. Did Phil find dimples attractive? Would he find Dora pretty, with her pale hair and bright blue eyes? Dan’s stomach turned at the thought.

Dora seemed uncharacteristically quiet, probably too anxious to speak, so Dan guided them into the lounge. “I’m afraid my flat compares very poorly to your lovely home,” Dan told Phil. He explained to Dora, “Phil’s house includes, among other things, a solarium full of beautiful plants.”

She turned to look at Phil with wide eyes. “I do love flowers,” she remarked brightly.

Dan hoped that Phil would not take this as an implied request for an invitation to Phil’s home, because that would seem quite rude, so he hurried to interject, “I would give you a tour of the flat, but I’m afraid there isn’t much to see.”

Phil walked to the piano in the corner of the lounge and ran a hand along its lid. “This was what I was most interested in seeing, in any case. I do hope you’ll play for us after dinner?”

Dan felt his face grow hot, but nodded. “Of course. I know we have spoken of it often, so I perhaps owe it to you after all this time.”

Dora exclaimed, “Have you never heard him play? Oh, he plays so wonderfully!”

“No!” Dan replied quickly. “I do not play very well at all. Dora is too kind. Please do not develop unrealistic expectations.”

“I’m sure Miss Williams is quite honest in her admiration for your playing,” Phil replied with a kind smile to the young woman. “But please do not feel anxious that you must impress us. I have looked forward to hearing you play for so long that you might simply smash your head into the keyboard a few times, and I would no doubt be pleased to listen.”

Dan laughed, but Dora looked confused. Not everyone appreciated Phil’s sense of humor. When she heard Dan laugh, though, and saw the good humor on Phil’s face, she gave a small, self-conscious giggle.

Dora had made a roast for them, and Phil complimented her cooking in glowing terms, though Dan knew Phil flattered her more than she perhaps deserved, as the Yorkshire pudding was rather soggy and the vegetables undercooked. Dora cooked tolerably well, but even her own family teased her about her lack of prowess. They often joked that it was the reason Dan had not yet married her.

And at that moment, Dan found the topic suddenly brought up in conversation as if conjured by his thoughts. “How long have you and Dan been engaged?” Phil asked Dora politely.

“Oh,” Dora blushed under Phil’s attention. “We’ve been betrothed since we were 18.”

Phil’s eyebrows flew up, and he glanced at Dan questioningly.

“Yes,” Dan verified with some embarrassment. “It has just … never seemed like … quite the right time.”

“My friends tease me,” Dora admitted with an amused smile, “because we have been engaged so many years, when so many of them have long since married and have children, but I know that it will happen when we are ready.”

Dan felt a twinge of guilt at Dora’s words. He knew that they should marry, that he should have a family and live the life his parents had planned for him, but he just had not felt able to do so. Not yet. And Dora had never seemed overeager, either, so it just … never happened.

After dinner had been cleared away, Dan played piano for them in the lounge. Though Dora had seated herself on the sofa, Phil chose an armchair some distance from her. Dan hoped nothing was wrong there.

He first played for them Beethoven’s "Für Elise,” explaining that he had heard the piece as a child, and that it had been the originating source of his lifelong interest in the piano.

“You never told me that,” marveled Dora, and Dan realized that he had not discussed the piano very much with her. Despite the enthusiasm she had shown in her conversation with Phil, he had not played often for her, either, because she had shown little interest.

When he finished the piece, he told Phil, “I always longed for piano lessons, but never had them. I cannot read music, and I’m afraid I learn only by ear.” He supposed he spoke to both of them, really, but he only saw Phil.

“But that is a great talent!” Phil insisted. “Playing a piece of music after only having heard it is impressive indeed!”

Dan blushed and looked down at his fingers still resting on the piano keyboard. “Shall I play you some Rachmaninoff next?”

Phil and Dora both nodded eagerly, and so he began playing the composer’s “Piano Concerto No. 2.” He realized quickly his mistake, however, for it was an intensely romantic piece, and he thought only of Phil as his fingers moved across the keys. He was a cad. To play this piece, thinking of Phil, when the woman he had sworn to marry sat in the same room, was unforgivable.

Of course, it was wrong to play this piece while thinking of Phil at all.

When he had finished, he sat with his head downcast, his hands resting in his lap, while Phil and Dora both exclaimed about how beautifully he had played. “I made a great many mistakes,” Dan said quietly, but they persisted in their praise. Phil’s pleasure seemed genuine, but Dan guessed that Dora merely followed his example. She had no great love or understanding of music.

Without another word, without any warning, Dan began playing a ragtime piece. He could not remember the name or the composer, but the lively rhythm served well to break his melancholy mood. When he had finished the song, he looked up to see Dora looking quite shocked and Phil delighted. “I’m unfamiliar with that tune, and even that style of music, but it was wonderfully cheerful and lively,” Phil declared with a smile that lit a fire in Dan’s heart.

“Er … yes,” Dora said hesitantly. “It was very … different. I’ve never heard you play anything like that before.”

“I like a great many different kinds of music,” Dan explained. “I thought perhaps we could use something a bit more upbeat.”

Phil walked to the piano and stood beside it, gazing at Dan. “I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for playing for us.” He clapped a hand to Dan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I do believe this was the highlight of my week!” Then he released Dan’s shoulder and turned to look at Dora. “Please do excuse my familiarity,” he apologized with some apparent embarrassment. “Dan and I have become quite close friends these past few months, but I did not intend…”

“No, of course, it’s fine,” Dora said. She glanced between Phil and Dan as if wondering why Phil had apologized. Dan found himself wondering, as well, for Phil hadn’t done anything untoward.

Dan played the piano for them a bit more, and they all engaged in idle conversation, until eventually the evening naturally wound down.

Dora left before Phil, as her aunt would certainly not consider it appropriate for her to be alone at Dan’s flat without any others present. “It was really so wonderful to meet you!” she gushed to Phil.

Phil took her hand and pressed it gently between both of his, saying, “It was lovely to meet you, as well, Miss Williams. I hope we shall meet again often.” For a moment Dan actually felt jealous, though he was confused about his reasons. Was he jealous that Dora seemed attracted to Phil? Or that Phil seemed attracted to Dora? The twisting in his belly told him the answer, but he tried to keep a friendly expression on his face as they all said their farewells.

At the door, Dora held her face up for Dan to kiss her cheek, which he dutifully did, and she gave Phil a last beatific smile before running outside to get into her taxi.

“Why did you say all that to her?” Dan asked abruptly as soon as he and Phil were alone.

Phil looked confused. “What do you mean? What did I say wrong?”

“All that stuff about how you hope you’ll see her again often. Are you … were you flirting with my own fiancée right in front of me? In my own flat?” Dan demanded.

Phil just stared at him in obvious incomprehension for a long moment. Then he let out a small laugh, but it didn’t sound amused at all. He lifted a hand to rub pale fingers against his forehead as if trying to smooth the furrows that had appeared there.

“Dan, you are my closest and dearest friend, and I hope to have a long friendship with you for many years to come.” He spoke slowly and patiently, sounding somehow sad. Dan’s emotions still roiled within him, though, and he waited for Phil to say something that actually addressed the issue at hand: to wit, Phil flirting with Dora right in front of him.

Phil looked into Dan’s eyes, and his emotions showed openly on his face. Dan had hurt him with the accusation, and he suddenly felt a rush of shame. “Dan, this woman will be your wife—she will be by your side for as long as you live—so it is important to me that she approve of me as your companion. I hope I impressed her favorably this evening, for her good opinion matters to me a great deal. I would hate for her to develop a dislike of me that might someday lead you to end our friendship.”

“That could never happen,” Dan insisted immediately. He would never abandon his friendship with Phil, no matter what anyone else said or thought about him. Dora could harangue him for the rest of his life without convincing him to set Phil aside.

“Dan,” Phil said gently, waiting until Dan met his eyes. “She’s going to be your wife. She’ll come before everyone else in your heart, and so even if she were not a perfectly sweet girl, I must yet court her good opinion out of fear. I hope she liked me this evening.”

“How could anyone not like you?” Dan asked, though despair swamped him for no good reason he could name.

Phil sighed. “I hope you will allow me to meet her again before she leaves town so that I can… Dan, surely you  _must_  see the situation I’m in. I am at her mercy. If she chooses to dislike me, then I may lose your friendship forever. I cannot let that happen.” He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes in apparent weariness or some other emotion Dan could not identify, then put them back on. “Please, allow me to make a friend of her, so that I may keep a friend in you.”

* * *

**3 March 1939**

Though Dan vigorously denied the necessity of it, Phil insisted that he would very much like to take Dan and Dora to the cinema before she left town. At length, Dan reluctantly arranged it, and the three met to attend a showing of Errol Flynn’s  _The Adventures of Robin Hood_. It was not quite the sort of film that Dan or Phil would have chosen on their own, but neither did they find it objectionable … and Dora was quite excited to see the film.

Dan enjoyed the film more than he had expected, as he found the action sequences engaging and the humor occasionally clever. Phil, too, seemed quite cheerful as they left the theatre, though Phil tended toward cheerful in the general case. Dora was bubbling over with delight.

Phil suggested, “Shall we have a brief drink before we part, so that we might discuss the film a bit? It may be that I shan’t see Miss Williams again before her departure. I know of a quaint pub nearby that would suit admirably.”

Dora giggled girlishly and said, “Yes, that would be lovely!” before Dan even had a chance to say anything. He felt excluded by their interaction and his mood began to darken.

They walked the short distance to the pub and found seats at a table together. Phil asked Dan, “What did you think of the film?” But Dan merely shrugged sullenly. Phil gave him a concerned look, but Dan pretended great interest in their surroundings. The pub was well-lit and attractive—the sort of place a gentleman might entertain a lady after a date at the cinema. Dan looked back at Phil and Dora and scowled.

“You know, Phil, I think you quite resemble Errol Flynn in his role as Robin Hood!” Dora gushed.

When had Phil invited Dora to call him by his first name? Dan could not remember, but it seemed overly familiar and inappropriate behavior between a single man and another fellow’s betrothed.

“I’m sure you are wrong, Miss Williams,” Phil replied. He put a slight stress on her name, which led Dan to conclude that perhaps Phil had not invited Dora’s familiarity. If that were true … Dan wondered if he should be embarrassed by Dora’s behavior. “If anything, Dan himself looks more like the hero of the film, with his wavy brown hair and pronounced dimples.” Phil smiled at him, and Dan felt his sulk recede a bit. Phil had noticed his dimples? And found his hair attractive?

“Oh, no!” Dora insisted, sipping daintily at her bright pink beverage. She’d been relatively quiet the first time she’d met Phil. What had caused this difference? Dan thought back to how he had told her that Phil wished to spend time with her again before she left town and wondered if perhaps she had misunderstood. Had Dan given her the wrong impression? “You look much more the romantic hero,” she told Phil. “The aquiline nose, the high cheekbones, the engaging smile!”

Phil blanched, looking to Dan in a helpless plea for assistance. He clearly had no idea what to say in response to Dora’s indecorous flirting. Dan gazed back at him and smirked, shrugging a shoulder as if to say, “What can I do?”

Interesting that he had been so upset when he believed Phil to be flirting with Dora, when he found the opposite only amusing. It was rather fun to watch Phil squirm.

“I assure you, Miss Williams, I am no hero. If faced with danger, I would no doubt run away as fast as my clumsy feet could take me! And I would most likely trip during my flight!” He grinned, obviously hoping that Dora would go along with his self-mockery. “Not to mention the fact that Robin Hood rode horses throughout the film, and I am deathly afraid of the beasts. I’m sure Dan is much braver than I. Do you enjoy riding horses, Dan?”

Dan saw how Phil had tried to shift the conversation, and he felt much less cross now. He felt as if he were watching a game, observing Phil’s desperate attempts to extricate himself from a socially awkward situation.

Before Dan could even answer the question about horses—which he did not, in fact, know how to ride, though he had no particular fear of them—Dora reached hesitantly toward Phil’s face and asked, “May I remove your spectacles? I believe your eyes are much more beautiful than Errol Flynn’s, but I can’t see them properly behind the glass.”

Phil jerked his head back, looking extremely uncomfortable, and shot Dan another look pleading for help. Dan realized that Dora was making a fool of herself, and that he had been allowing his friend to suffer simply to assuage his own jealousy. He felt quite a cad for abandoning Phil to such an awkward situation when he knew such social niceties could make his friend anxious. Phil had often told him that it was why he preferred the quiet at the club, and why he valued his friendship with Dan. Though he felt confident in professional situations such as at the BBC, he often felt quite nervous in less formal social situations. He’d told Dan he’d never felt so comfortable with someone else socially, so at ease, with so little anxiety.

And here Dan had been enjoying watching his friend struggle with those very problems, because of his own petty jealousy.

“Dora!” Dan chided. “You barely know Mr. Lester.” Though Dan himself always called Phil by his first name, he chose to be more formal in this case to point out to Dora her own inappropriate behavior. “I know you mean no harm, but manners are somewhat different in town than in the country.”

Dora lowered her hands away from their reach toward Phil’s face, and her lower lip protruded in an unattractive pout. “I do apologize, Mr. Lester, if I overstepped.” She sounded like a sulking child.

Dan felt ashamed on various levels. He felt embarrassed by Dora’s inappropriate behavior, but more importantly he felt tremendous guilt at subjecting Phil to her advances without offering any rescue.

Phil’s shoulders relaxed, though Dan had not even noticed them growing tense, and he smiled hesitantly at Dora. “No harm done, Miss Williams. I hope we can still be good friends?”

Dora smiled, but looked unhappily chastened. “I do believe I’m ready to return to my aunt’s home. Could you fetch me a taxi, love?” she asked Dan. She rarely called him such pet names, and he wondered if she was just trying to pretend that she hadn’t been nearly throwing herself at someone else in his presence. But he simply nodded and stood. He glanced at Phil, uncertain about leaving him alone with Dora at this point, but Phil smiled and gave just the slightest inclination of his head to let Dan know that everything was all right. Dan returned the smile and went to the bar to request that a taxi be called.

Once Dora had left with barely a glance at either of them, Dan and Phil sat quietly at their table for a long moment before they both began to speak at the same time.

“I’m so sorry…” Dan began.

“I’m so sorry…” Phil also said.

They looked at each other and couldn’t help but laugh. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Dan assured Phil firmly. “Dora behaved abominably, and I should not have let it go on so long. I’m sorry for allowing her to make you so uncomfortable.”

Phil shrugged awkwardly. “I hope I did not offend her. I do still wish for her to have a good opinion of me.”

“Oh, I think she has a  _very_  good opinion of you,” Dan joked.

Phil frowned. “Dan, this is no laughing matter. If I’ve given offense…”

Dan rested a hand on Phil’s arm and insisted, “You have done nothing wrong. And nothing Dora could ever say to me will ever change my mind about my regard for you and for our friendship. I promise you that.”

Phil still seemed to fret, but he did so silently. Dan tried to distract him with discussion of the film, including mockery of some of the more ridiculous stunts, and soon Phil was laughing with him, quite relaxed and apparently happy. They spent another hour together in the pub, and Dan found that it was by far the most enjoyable portion of the evening.

When they parted, Phil reached out to embrace him briefly with a grateful smile. They hadn’t touched each other thus very often, but they had done so a few times before, such as at Christmastime and when they had not seen each other for several days.

Dan allowed himself to soak in the warmth of Phil’s arms around him, however brief the embrace. And then they broke apart, and went into their separate taxis with the understanding that they would see each other again at the BBC on the morrow.

And so Dan went home to his silent flat where he lay alone in bed that night, trying very hard not to let his thoughts linger on the scent of Phil’s skin, the texture of Phil’s wool overcoat, and every other detail of their affectionate farewell.


	7. Marcus

**19 March 2001**

Before Kathleen returned to the little terrace house the next morning, she sent her children to school and bid her husband goodbye with a kiss when he left for the office. “Make sure to stop reading long enough to eat something at lunchtime,” her husband, George, insisted sternly. “I packed you a sandwich.” He knew her well. She could easily get absorbed in a project and work for hours at a time without taking any breaks, and this particular project was far more absorbing than any other she’d ever embarked upon. She promised him, thanked him for the sandwich, and kissed him again. Then, she shooed him out of their house with a smile.

She reentered Daniel Howell and Philip Lester’s silent home as if entering a church, for it seemed to her now filled with sacred memories she could never understand. She could only know the scraps of information left behind in the shoebox on the kitchen table … and perhaps another shoebox somewhere in the house that held Philip Lester’s own mementos, including the corresponding letters from her Great-Uncle Dan. She hoped that such a box existed so that she could understand more of the story. For a moment, she hesitated at the doorway leading into the kitchen, suddenly feeling as if she were invading these two men’s privacy by reading their letters.

But then she decided that, through their letters, their love lived on, and by reading them she kept that love alive. It would be tragic to leave such a romance unacknowledged, shut up in a shoebox for none to see. She hoped she was not merely justifying her own curiosity as she entered the room and sat once again on the chair at the little table.

She remembered well where she had left off the previous night. Dan had been conscripted into the Army in World War II. She felt extremely glad that she knew for certain that he had survived, because otherwise she would have feared for him terribly at this point. But he would not have bought this house and lived here until his recent death if he had not survived the war.

She glanced one more time at the conscription notice, then set it aside with distaste. She picked up the next envelope, which was addressed simply to “Dan” and had no postage or indication of mailing on the outside.

-

_19 January 1940_

_My dearest love,_

_I am struck to the heart by this terrible news. I am more grateful to you than I can possibly express that you took me aside privately to give me the information in advance, for if I had heard it for the first time when you announced it to the repertory company at large, I am sure I would not have been able to maintain my composure._

_I cannot believe that we are to be parted so soon after finally finding each other. Yes, we met for the first time more than a year ago, and yet it feels as if we only truly found each other three weeks ago when you pressed your lips to mine for the first time. An entire world opened to me that I had never previously imagined. Or, perhaps, imagined, but never believed to be possible in my own life._

_For you are now my life, my dearest and most beautiful love. It may seem ridiculous that I write you this letter when I shall see you this evening at your home, but I find that I must express my emotions as I sit here, alone, with my first thought upon waking being that I shall be parted from you all too soon. I wish that I had woken this morning to the sight of your lovely face on the pillow beside me, your golden skin bathed in the earliest rays of the sun, but I do understand your need to make household arrangements and come to terms with this situation with some privacy._

_I do hope, however, that we may make the most of these meager days before you depart. I know that the BBC has released you from duty so that you may make all necessary arrangements and bid goodbye to your family. I intend to feign illness or a family emergency so that we might spend as much time as possible together, and perhaps make a trip to the north so that my family might see you before you leave, as well, if you wish it. I know that they love you dearly and will be deeply grieved by this news._

_I must admit that I am glad that the BBC has released you from your duties, for it would strike me to the heart to playact beside you, surrounded by others completely unaware of our pain and sorrow. I do not know how I shall perform today, myself, with this news in the forefront of my mind. I believe I shall have little difficulty feigning a need to take time away from my work._

_Rather than mailing this letter, I will give it to you in person when I come this evening to your home, where we might embrace each other and express all the love in our united hearts._

_Yours most devotedly,_

_Phil_

-

Kathleen found herself particularly touched by Phil’s reference to Dan’s face on the pillow beside him, bathed in morning sunlight. She interpreted that to mean that the two men had, in fact, shared a bed at some point before the writing of that letter, and regardless of whether their interactions had been sexual in nature, she was glad that they’d had that intimacy. Especially since their time together had been so short before Dan was scheduled to leave for the war.

She thought of all the tender moments she had shared with her husband over the years, all those early mornings of sleepy smiles and gentle kisses. And then she remembered that although Dan and Phil may have had only a short period together before World War II, they had apparently had decades together afterward, and she felt tears smarting in her eyes. She was so glad that they’d gotten that second chance.

At first glance, the next letter appeared to be written by a different hand, with a slightly more feminine style. Kathleen frowned in confusion and continued reading.

-

_4 February 1940_

_My dearest,_

_I know that this letter must pass through the hands of your superiors and perhaps others in the military before it reaches you, and someone may intercept this either before or after you have received it, but I can no longer communicate with you in any other way, and I simply will not be separated from you entirely. I will speak to you by whatever means necessary, even if that means that I chance the discovery of this letter by some officer who chooses to invade our privacy._

_If you wish for me not to write to you in such a potentially scandalous way, please do tell me, but know that it would break my heart to be unable to reach out to you until we see each other again. Please forgive me for not quite being myself in this letter, but I hope it may persuade you to allow me this small consolation in writing to you._

_I think of you every moment and wonder where you are, what you are doing. I hope that this letter will reach you in Dorset before you are deployed, but I do not know how extensive a period of time you may receive training before you depart. Nor do I know how long it will take future letters to reach you, for I know not where your regiment will be sent. I, who pray little, do pray that the Lord keeps you safe and brings you home to me as soon as may be._

_Please write when you are able. My heart aches for you with its every beat._

_Your most loving,_

_Philippa_

-

Kathleen giggled. “Philippa”! Philip Lester had signed his letter as “Philippa”! But then her humor dissipated as she realized the very real danger the two men had faced in that less accepting time. Phil subtly acknowledged in his own letter that he took chances with both their reputations by writing at all when he had no idea how many hands would touch that letter before it reached Dan, or whether anyone might open it to examine it for some reason.

Any desire to giggle completely vanished, and she grieved for their need to hide their love from the world. What would have happened to Dan if the identity of his lover had been discovered? She honestly did not know. She hurt for Phil, for his desperation to stay in touch with his lover while they were apart, despite the possible dangers.

Even today, such a relationship would receive disgusted condemnation from many. Many in her own family, apparently. She bowed her head in shame that she’d unknowingly been a party to their rejection of him, that she had not reached out to her great-uncle to let him know that not everyone would see and treat him with such judgment. If only she had known. If only she had known  _him_. But now the chance was lost to her, and she had only these letters and mementos to allow her to know who this wonderful man had been.

The next letter, too, was written in the more feminine hand, but it was extremely short.

-

_14 February 1940_

_My dearest love,_

_Today we celebrate Saint Valentine, and so I wished merely to send you a short missive so that you know I shall think of you every moment of this day. Imagine me ostentatiously presenting you with flowers and chocolate, if such an image might amuse you. I would certainly treat you like a king if you were here, for you are of course the king of my heart and always shall be._

_I have not yet received a reply to my last letter, so I shall not write extensively before receiving your permission to do so. But please just know that I love you with every fibre of my being, and every inch of my body misses every inch of yours beside me._

_With devotion,_

_Philippa_

-

The next letter was written in Philip Lester’s familiar hand, however, without any disguise.

-

_20 March 1940_

_My beautiful love,_

_Your letter made me laugh aloud, and I am glad that my choice of pseudonym amused you so. To be entirely honest, I am glad that you do not feel a need for me to sign my letters in that manner, for I wish my messages to you to be as authentic and true as possible. It pained me to sign my letters with something other than my actual name, but I did not wish to risk your reputation without permission._

_Since I now have that permission, I shall state with no hesitation whatsoever that I, Philip Lester, am most devotedly and passionately in love with Private Daniel Howell!_

_There. Now, if thunder should sound and lightning should strike us, at least I will have spoken the truth proudly, for indeed I am most proud to love and be loved by you._

_I have ceased my work at the BBC, for I find I cannot tolerate the place, haunted as it is by memories of you. I could never enter the rehearsal room without remembering our first meeting there. You, so nervous and yet so handsome. Your deep brown eyes when you looked at me seemed to say much, but I refused to build any hopes. No, that is not true, for I appreciated your spirit and did develop hope of earning your friendship. Remember when we both said that we would prefer the role of Puck? I knew then that you were a kindred spirit, but I could never have guessed to what extent that could be true._

_So I now spend my days haunting the house, with Gemma fussing over me and Mrs. Jameson baking a ridiculous number of cakes in hopes of tempting my palate, for I have little interest in food. I believe I shall go north for a time to seek solace in the bosom of my family. And then I know not what I shall do. I miss you so abominably! I cannot bear it._

_Yours most devotedly,_

_Phil_

-

Kathleen read several such moving letters, with Phil expressing increasingly desperate longing for Dan and grief at his absence. Then she reached the letter she had been expecting, for she remembered that her family had always described Great-Uncle Dan as living with “a fellow Army pensioner” to save money.

-

_23 May 1940_

_My dearest, most beautiful love,_

_Please do not be angry with me. I simply cannot sit here in safety while you are abroad fighting for all that is right and just. You may not have chosen your fate, you may have been conscripted to fight this war, but I now choose to fight it with you. Though we may not be together, in a way we shall, for we shall be fighting for the same righteous cause._

_Again, I plead with you not to chide me for this decision. This is the best way for me to feel close to you, to feel as if we are in some way together even if it is not in a physical sense. At least we may be together in purpose, part of the same endeavor for freedom not only for ourselves but also for all folk in the oppressed and ravaged corners of the world._

_I once told you that I was a coward, that I would run from any fight and trip over my own feet while doing so. Today I choose to be Errol Flynn, instead, though I must admit that I have not chosen the cavalry, for obvious equine-related reasons._

_Please forgive me and wish me well. My thoughts and prayers are always with you—for, yes, my constant fears for your safety have induced me to take up frequent prayer._

_Yours always and forever,_

_Phil_

-

The next few items in the box were birthday cards addressed to various international addresses. It was apparent that no one knew exactly where his regiment was located, but they had all apparently reached him through the various channels of the military.

One card appeared to be from his mother. On the cover, it only said, “Happy Birthday to My Son,” and on the inside it was signed merely, “Be safe, Mum.” Thinking on it, Kathleen realized that this bland—perhaps even cold—message had come from her own great-grandmother. Kathleen had never known her well, as she died when Kathleen was still young, but Kathleen found herself now wondering if the woman had held everyone at such a distance or whether it had only been the son she disapproved of, the one who lived with “a fellow Army pensioner.”

There was a card from Phil, of course, with the usual sentimental avowals but no mention of his Army situation. Another card, however, appeared to be from Phil’s family, signed by all of them (including a squiggle presumably from the very young Steven), which contained a letter from Phil’s mother.

-

_1 June 1940_

_Our dear Daniel,_

_I do not know if this card will reach you by your birthday, but I can only hope that it shall. Please know that we will all be thinking of you on that day, and that our hopes for your safety endure not only then but on every day of the year._

_I hope you will be able to forgive our beloved Philip for his decision to join the Army. He did so only to feel closer to you, but I know it also pleases him to feel that he may be helping others, as he has always been such a kind and gentle boy. He may not have told you, but he is to be given the rank of Captain, and will be working in translation, as he is fluent in both French and German, so you needn’t fear him falling prey to violence on the front lines. We know that you, however, face true peril every day, and we fear for you so much that we cannot help but understand Philip’s decision, knowing that the extremity of his own feelings for you must be so much greater than our own._

_Instead of dwelling on the dangers of today, I would invite you to remember when you spent your birthday with us last year. You boys had so much fun messing about in the river and playing badminton in the garden. I remember you strolling through the trees and along the hillsides with Philip, the two of you so engaged in conversation that you needed no other company. And you were so sweet with young Steven._

_I remember with great pleasure how surprised and delighted you were by the extravagance of a Pimm’s Cup when we brought them out on the evening of your birthday. On your birthday this year, wherever you are, I hope you will remember those broad snifters filled with colorful fruits and delicious liqueur that we all drank together in the back garden in the sunshine. Remember how we all raised our glasses to toast the anniversary of your birth, and know that we will be toasting you this year, as well. We all look forward to doing so with you again upon your safe return._

_With all good wishes and affection,_

_Kathryn Lester_

-

The next letter was another from Phil, and a photograph fell out of the envelope when Kathleen opened it. The black-and-white photo showed a handsome young man, tall and slim, dressed in military uniform, standing beside a motorcycle. He had a winsome smile upon his face and one hand resting on the motorcycle’s handlebar.

-

_8 July 1940_

_My most beloved Daniel,_

_I hope you do not blame me excessively for writing less often than I would like. My duties keep me quite busy, but I think of you every day and hope for your safety. Every letter I receive from you is a balm to my heart._

_I enclose a photograph of myself with my new motorcycle. I greatly enjoy riding it about the country lanes on grand adventures with the wind in my face and the motor roaring._

_But surely you know that I jest, for I would never ride such an infernally dangerous creation, perhaps even worse than a horse! It belongs to a fellow soldier in my regiment, and I merely asked him to photograph me with it so that I might look dashing. Do I look dashing? Do I look like a man who might have wild adventures?_

_I should not jest about wild adventures, for I know you face true dangers and not merely fancifully imagined ones. I must admit that I loathe thinking about the fear you must experience. In your most recent letter, you sounded so downcast that I worry extremely. Please write again soon, or I shall be forced to find additional opportunities to take photographs of myself in ludicrous situations in an attempt to cheer you._

_I love you more than words could possibly express, but I know you already understand this, for I know you love me with the same enduring intensity. We shall be together again, and when that time comes, I shall never let us be parted ever after, for I will never again let go of your hand in mine._

_Except perhaps to allow you to make the tea. It always tastes better when you make it._

_I hope my letter has given you a chuckle or two, for I worry about your dark mood. You must keep up your spirits, my dearest, so that you can come back to me and we can spend the rest of our lives making each other deliriously happy. I insist upon it. Promise me in your next letter. Promise me that we shall have that future together when we both return home when this infernal war is finished._

_With the most enduring and ardent love,_

_Phil_

-

Kathleen felt grateful, once again, for the fact that she knew that Dan—her Great-Uncle Dan, she reminded herself, since she had begun to think of him as the young man seen through Philip Lester’s eyes in these letters—survived the war, for everyone’s concern for his safety was contagious.

Unexpectedly, the doorbell rang. Kathleen glanced at it, then at her watch. She had continued reading past lunchtime, so she should take a break in any case. She wondered if Bernice had come to visit again. She wouldn’t mind chatting with the older woman while eating her sandwich.

But when she opened the door, Kathleen found a man standing outside. He looked to be around her age, and he wore crisp jeans with a white jumper. He held out his hand. “I’m Marcus Greene,” he said with a smile. “I assume you’re one of Uncle Dan’s relatives?”

Kathleen shook his hand automatically, asking dazedly, “Uncle Dan?”

Marcus Greene laughed. “Oh, I’m not actually related to him. That’s just what we always called him. Phil Lester was my uncle. Well, great-uncle, but we always just called him Uncle Phil.”

Kathleen nodded, uncertain what exactly was going on, but she knew that she would love to talk more with someone who had known Philip Lester and, apparently, her own great-uncle. “I was just about to have lunch,” she told him. “Would you care for half a sandwich and a chat?”

 

* * *

 

They ended up sitting in the two chairs in the garden, splitting the roast beef sandwich Kathleen’s husband had prepared for her that morning.

“Uncle Phil always loved this garden,” Marcus told Kathleen as they sat among the greenery and flowering shrubbery.

“I’d noticed how beautiful it was,” Kathleen admitted. “Was one of them an avid gardener?”

Marcus laughed. “Oh, Uncle Phil loved plants, but he couldn’t keep them alive for long. He always joked that he had a ‘brown thumb.’” Kathleen chuckled. “It was Uncle Dan who took care of this garden. He didn’t care about plants very much, but he loved how happy they made Uncle Phil, so he has multiple gardening books and spent time out here tending the garden, even during the week that he died.”

“You saw my great-uncle the week he died?” Kathleen asked, surprised.

“Oh, of course,” Marcus replied. “I came to check on him every day after Uncle Phil was gone. He was inconsolable. Simply lost without his Phil. They hadn’t spent a day apart for decades, you know.”

Kathleen shook her head. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know very much about my great-uncle at all until I came here yesterday to begin sorting through his estate. I found a box of letters and have been reading them. I really wish I’d gotten to know my great-uncle while he was still alive. And I wish I’d gotten to know Philip Lester, too. He seems like a wonderful man. Very loving.”

“They both were, in their own ways,” Marcus told her. “I wish you could have known Uncle Dan. He was a character.” He smiled in memory.

“I wonder … did your uncle have a box of mementos like Dan did? I would dearly love to read the letters my great-uncle wrote!”

Marcus looked thoughtful. “Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t have thrown anything like that away, so it should be around here somewhere, but I haven’t gone through the house yet.”

“You didn’t go through your uncle’s estate after his death?”

“Of course not!” Marcus exclaimed, sounding almost horrified. “With Uncle Dan still living here? Surrounded by Uncle Phil’s things? It would have been cruel to come in and take things away from him when that was all he had left!”

“Oh,” Kathleen said softly. “Of course.” She felt terrible for having even suggested the idea. “So … we will both need to go through the house. If you haven’t already dealt with your uncle’s belongings, I’m afraid it might be a bit of a muddle.”

Marcus gestured dismissively. “That won’t be too difficult. I can help you sort through everything, since I know which things belonged to each of them … though after all these years most of their belongings really were theirs together, instead of belonging to one or the other.” Marcus glanced at her, then out at the garden. He took a bite of sandwich, chewed, and swallowed before adding, “To be honest, I didn’t think Uncle Dan’s family would care about his estate.” He hesitated. “Or was your family hoping for something that could be sold? I’m afraid there isn’t anything worth much money.”

Kathleen’s face felt hot, and she knew she was blushing. “No,” she stammered, “I mean … they just sent me to deal with the estate, to decide what to do with everything, you know? Decide which things to take to the charity shop, which things might have sentimental value, that sort of thing.”

Marcus’s eyebrows went up. “Sentimental value?” he asked in obvious disbelief. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I just … I wasn’t aware that Uncle Dan’s family felt much sentiment where he was concerned. He never talked about them, and he spent all holidays with us, so I wasn’t even aware that he had much living family.” Marcus stopped himself, then added, “Biological family, that is. He was very much a part of the Lester family.”

“I’m glad,” Kathleen said softly. “I don’t know what happened between him and our family, because no one ever talked about him. I’m afraid…” she hesitated, then continued, “I’m afraid perhaps my grandfather and their parents might have disapproved. Of … them.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “I always assumed that was the case, but I didn’t want to ask. I was afraid it might open old wounds. And he seemed perfectly happy as a part of our own family, so I didn’t want to stir up any possible bad memories.”

“I wish I’d had the chance to know him,” Kathleen said sadly, her sandwich quite forgotten. “And Philip Lester.” She found a smile for Marcus Greene. “And perhaps the two corgis in the photograph in the lounge.”

Marcus laughed. “Oh! Pancake and Nuki! Those dogs were the delight of their lives! They used to take them out for walks twice a day, showing them off to the neighborhood. Uncle Phil always told us that corgis are basically royalty. Something about a dog named Dookie.” Marcus’s face sobered. “They didn’t make it outside so often once the dogs were gone.” He looked at Kathleen. “Pancake and Nuki died just a few months apart. It was hard on Uncle Phil and Uncle Dan, losing them so close together like that. I think it probably contributed to them hiding out in the house more. It’s hard to overcome grief like that, when you love like that, even if it’s just a pet.”

Kathleen nodded. She nibbled at her sandwich. George would chastise her if she didn’t eat at least half of it, and she knew he was right. She took a proper bite and chewed and swallowed. It was difficult to swallow around the lump in her throat, though.

“I can tell they were very loving people,” she said hesitantly. “I only met Great-Uncle Dan a few times and never had a real conversation with him, and I never got to meet Philip Lester at all, but I feel like I’ve been getting to know them a bit through their letters.” She paused, then corrected herself, “Well, Phil’s letters. Because it’s my Great-Uncle Dan’s box of mementos, so it doesn’t have any letters  _from_  him, only letters  _to_  him.”

Marcus smiled at her, and it reminded her of that winsome smile on the face of a soldier standing beside a motorbike. “If you like, we can look for Uncle Phil’s box of mementos and go through it together. I knew them both well my whole life, so I can fill in some of the context for you.”

“That’s…” Kathleen felt herself tear up, and felt a tear actually slide down her face. She sniffed, and dabbed at her eyes with the piece of kitchen roll she’d brought out with her sandwich. “I would love that. It’s incredibly kind of you, given how my family has behaved.”

“Uncle Phil wouldn’t want me to hold it against you, and I don’t think Uncle Dan would, either. Let’s go order some more substantial food…” Kathleen laughed, knowing that the half-sandwich hadn’t been much of a meal for either of them, “…and we’ll go through their things, and I’ll tell you all about both of them. How about that?”

Kathleen nodded gratefully. “That would be wonderful.”

They gathered up their things and went into the house, but Kathleen glanced back as she closed the sliding glass doors, and thought about all the love her great-uncle must have felt, inspiring him to nurture a garden like that for a man with a brown thumb who loved plants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, this are going to start getting more obviously romantic between our boys in the main storyline. :)


	8. Dan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter took a bit longer than I’d intended, but I hope it’s worth the wait.

******11 March 1939**

With Dora’s visit behind them, Dan and Phil fell back into their comfortable habit of spending nearly every day socializing together in one way or another. They took to frequenting Phil’s club, where Dan had actually come to feel quite at home. Certainly, he was not as welcome as a true member would be, and there were many facilities of the club unavailable to him, but he felt that he could relax there quite comfortably with Phil, and they would often go just to sit in the lounge together while Dan read his books on philosophy and Phil read his horror magazines.

The club’s servants now often smiled at Dan when he arrived with Phil, for he always smiled back and thanked them when they brought tea or snacks. It made Dan wonder if good manners were so rare among the upper classes that simple recognition of a person’s service made them feel validated and appreciated. It made him only more determined to always show respect to the serving staff at the club, since that kind of consideration seemed to be otherwise lacking.

 

* * *

 

**18 March 1939**

Sometimes they found a book that interested them both, and they would each read it in turn so that they could discuss it afterward. They couldn’t engage in these lively conversations at the club, of course, where quiet was so prized, so they tended to enjoy the serene, verdant brightness of Phil’s solarium if they wanted to talk during the day, or the cozy comfort of his sitting room during the evenings.

The first such book they found was Franz Kafka’s  _The Metamorphosis_. Phil enjoyed the horror elements, while Dan focused more on psychological and sociological interpretations. Though they appreciated the book in different ways, they spent a few happy hours sitting in Phil’s sunny solarium in discussion of the novella’s various merits and flaws, as they saw them.

Dan had never really had someone with whom to discuss his reading interests before. His esoteric tastes had been severely mocked by his schoolfellows and had resulted in many of his beatings by the rougher boys at school. He’d never met anyone who said, as Phil did with his actions, “I don’t see this the same way you do, but tell me why you find it interesting. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Dan sat in the comfortable chair in Phil’s solarium and watched his friend’s face as they spoke. Phil glowed as if from within, his excitement and enthusiasm shining through. He sometimes waved aside Dan’s particularly intellectual explorations of the book’s deeper meanings, but he only ever did so with a smile and a self-deprecating, “I don’t understand a word you just said. Bring the discussion down to where we mere mortals can keep up, won’t you?”

The sunbeams streamed down through the skylights, and whenever Phil removed his spectacles to clean them with the soft handkerchief he kept in his pocket, Dan would surreptitiously lean slightly forward in hopes of catching a glimpse of those pale eyes directly illuminated by the sunlight. On the luckiest occasions, Phil would glance up at Dan as he wiped the glass lenses, and Dan would get an unobstructed view of multiple colors glimmering in those crystalline irises. He always found himself holding his breath in those moments—not wanting the magic to end—but then Phil would smile at him and put his spectacles back on as if nothing had happened.

Dan often saw those eyes gazing at him in his dreams, always bright and glistening with their mixture of blue and green and gray and so many other colors mixed together.

Those were his best dreams.

 

* * *

 

**26 March 1939**

After a string of plays by Chekhov, Marlowe, and various Greeks, the repertory company finally chose another Shakespeare play, and Drury once again cast Dan and Phil as the close friends at the center of  _The Taming of the Shrew_. Phil had the larger part, of course, playing the main character, Petruchio, while Dan played the lesser part of Petruchio’s good friend, Hortensio.

The play involved Petruchio and Hortensio engaging in various schemes to obtain wives for themselves, and Dan found the rehearsals almost painfully uncomfortable. He did not want to be reminded of Dora, whom he most likely would not see again before Christmas, and the idea of Phil searching for a wife literally nauseated him.

But … surely Phil eventually would take a wife. So handsome and successful a man would most likely have his pick among any of the well-bred ladies in London. Dan tortured himself imagining it, picturing Phil one day unexpectedly introducing him to a beautiful young woman and proclaiming her to be his beloved wife-to-be. He tortured himself by envisioning the gentle, affectionate smile on Phil’s face as he gazed at this imaginary woman.

Only the distraction of Petruchio’s rather unkind attitude toward women held Dan’s pain in check. While he and Dora might not love each other in the way either of them might dream of, Dan would never treat her with the cold cruelty of Petruchio.

Hearing those harsh words coming from Phil’s mouth seemed even more absurd, for Dan had little doubt that Phil would be a most tender and generous lover … an idea which he cursed the play for bringing to his mind, because Dan no longer had any delusions about his own feelings. He knew whom he loved. He had no delusions about Phil returning his affections, but he knew his own heart.

 

* * *

 

**3 April 1939**

Drury sent Dan home from rehearsal with a disgusted command that he not return unless certain that he would be well enough to perform his role for the broadcast. Dan’s coughing had disrupted the rehearsal until the director had simply lost his patience, though he had never had an overwhelming supply to begin with.

Dan took a taxi home and changed into his pajamas, pulling on the oatmeal sweater from Mrs. Lester for comfort. He decided that he would have some tea to soothe his throat, then simply go to bed despite the early hour of the afternoon. Perhaps he could sleep off the illness and be able to return to rehearsal on the morrow.

He put on the kettle for tea and shivered under a blanket while he waited. When the water had boiled, he set the tea to steep and huddled on the sofa, feeling miserable. He fell asleep there, despite the occasional coughs that continued to wrack his form.

He was wakened by a persistent knocking, completely unaware of how long he might have been sleeping. Dazed, he staggered to the door to find Phil there, looking concerned. Phil’s face grew even more grave at the sight of Dan, and he immediately insisted, “Go lie down, you fool! You look done in!”

Dan glanced down at his pajamas in shame. “I should … I’m not wearing proper trousers … I should change my clothes…” but Phil simply steered him to the sofa and guided him to lie down. Phil grabbed and positioned a pillow to make Dan’s head more comfortable, and then opened the top of the teapot to eye the cold, bitter contents with distaste.

“Let me go brew you some fresh tea,” Phil said, sounding gentler now that Dan had meekly followed his directions and lay obligingly curled up on his side on the sofa, coughing occasionally.

Phil bustled off to the kitchen, then returned to pull a chair over to the sofa so that he sat near Dan’s head. “You look terrible,” he told Dan softly.

“Gee, thanks,” Dan replied, which made Phil smile.

Phil pressed the back of a cool hand to Dan’s cheek, then to his forehead. “You feel very warm,” he remarked with obvious concern.

“It’s just that your hands are so cool,” Dan replied sleepily. He really didn’t want to wait for the tea. He coughed again, then said dozily, “Press your hand to my head again. It felt good.”

Phil smiled softly at him, then placed his pale hand to Dan’s forehead again. “Like that?” he asked, and Dan nodded, nuzzling against the hand for comfort like a child. After smiling down at him a moment, Phil stood and said, “I should see about the tea,” before heading into the kitchen.

He returned with the teapot and one cup. “You won’t have tea with me?” Dan asked plaintively.

“This isn’t a social occasion, Dan. You’re going to drink some tea and then go to bed. I fear you’re quite ill, but the sleep should do you good.”

Dan coughed pathetically, feeling quite sorry for himself. His body ached abominably, his head throbbed, and he couldn’t seem to think rightly. Phil put a cup of tea into his hands and he realized that he felt almost too weak to hold the cup. But Phil gazed at him expectantly, so he sipped the tea, but eventually set the cup in the saucer on the table. “Might I sleep now?” he asked Phil hopefully. “I’m so very tired.”

Phil nodded and stood, placing a hand on Dan’s elbow as he rose from the sofa. “Careful,” Phil said softly, and then he guided Dan slowly to his bedroom and helped him climb under the blankets, where Dan immediately closed his eyes, feeling that he might already be half asleep.

Dan thought he felt a tender kiss to his forehead as he drifted off, but perhaps it was a dream.

 

* * *

 

**4 April 1939**

Dan woke coughing in the wee hours of the morning, the house still dark as pitch. He staggered to the toilet, where he relieved himself and rinsed his face. He did not have the energy to brush his teeth, though he longed to do so. He felt weak as a newborn.

He heard a slight noise in the sitting room and shuffled out to investigate, only to find Phil sound asleep on the sofa, which was of course not long enough for his lanky form. His knees were bent so that he would fit.

“Phil,” Dan said softly, then turned his head aside to cough. “Phil, wake up. What are you doing here?”

Phil blinked slowly, not wearing his spectacles, and Dan saw the light from the street lamps shining on the blue of his eyes. “You were sick,” Phil answered slowly, obviously trying to wake. “I didn’t want to leave you alone.” He sat up and put on his spectacles, inspecting Dan with concern. “Are you feeling any better?”

In answer, Dan coughed, then smiled in chagrin. “I think so. But I woke up coughing. And I hurt all over as if the old school bullies had another go at me in my sleep.”

Phil frowned at the reference, then encouraged Dan to sit on the sofa. “Let me get you some broth.”

“I don’t have any broth,” Dan apologized.

Phil patted Dan’s back gently and said, “I had Mrs. Jameson bring some after you feel asleep. I knew you would need fortification when you woke.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, presumably to heat Mrs. Jameson’s broth.

Dan lay his face against the pillow and imagined that he could smell Phil there, though it was unlikely. He’d used the pillow too many times himself, but the idea pleased him, and so he breathed in and was comforted by the imagined scent of Phil’s skin. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep again on the sofa.

He woke some time later to see Phil sitting in one of the chairs, watching him with a fond smile on his face. The room had lightened, so it must now be morning. Dan coughed. “Do you think you could drink some broth now?” Phil asked, and Dan nodded. He rose to sitting, and his head swam a bit alarmingly but steadied itself soon enough.

Phil returned from the kitchen soon afterward with a bowl of steaming broth. When Dan took a sip, it tasted delicious. “Thank Mrs. Jameson from me,” he said, and Phil laughed.

“Even when delirious with fever, you are so kind and thoughtful.”

Dan looked at Phil in disbelief. “You stay overnight in my home to take care of me while I’m ill, and yet you call me kind and thoughtful?”

Phil’s smile was impish. “It needn’t be a competition.”

Dan’s laugh turned into a cough, but when he was ready, he sipped a bit more soup.

 

* * *

 

**7 April 1939**

No doubt thanks to Phil’s persistent gentle care each evening, Dan was able to return to the BBC quickly enough to resume his own role as Hortensio in  _The Taming of the Shrew_. The intimacy of Phil nursing him when he felt so unwell, when he felt so vulnerable, left an enduring sense of connection.

They recited their lines along with the rest of the cast but sat in chairs not side by side. Dan felt the distance between them keenly, and their eyes met repeatedly, their gazes lingering on each other each time until one of them blushed and looked away.

 

* * *

  

**1 May 1939**

“Happy May Day!” Dan cried when Phil answered his rap at the lion knocker. Phil gaped at Dan, and well he might, since Dan stood there on his doorstep with his arms full of flowers. Dan thought he probably looked quite the fool.

“Er,” Phil stammered. “Those are … quite a lot of … flowers.” His face flushed a bright pink.

“They’re for Gemma and Mrs. Jameson,” Dan explained, fighting his own blush. “I doubt they’ll have a proper maypole in London, not like when I was growing up, but I thought I could bring a bit of May to your household, at any rate.”

Ushering Dan in to the lounge, Phil took some of the blooms from him and called out, “Gemma, could you bring some flower vases?” Gemma appeared in one of the doorways and her eyes grew wide at the number of flowers Dan had brought.

“Are those for Master Philip?” she inquired, looking a bit shocked.

Dan’s face heated even more. “They are for you and Mrs. Jameson,” he explained hastily.

He imagined a world in which he could bring a mountain of flowers for Phil, and no one would look askance. Sadly, it was not the world in which they found themselves.

“You have both been so kind to me—I just wanted to thank you in some small way. So I thought I would bring a bit of springtime to you on this first day of May.”

A plump, gray-haired woman he’d never met before appeared in the doorway to what he assumed was the kitchen. She wore a cap and apron, and she smiled hesitantly as she asked, “Are you Master Daniel?”

“Just Dan,” he insisted, though he knew she was unlikely to comply, as he’d never been able to persuade Gemma to speak to him more casually.

“I hope my broth helped when you were ill,” she said shyly. Phil handed her a bouquet of bluebells and she giggled like a girl.

“I entirely credit your delicious broth with the speediness of my recovery,” Dan told the woman, and she ducked her head with one last smile before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Phil grinned at him. “You have had a rare sighting of Mrs. Jameson! Few can say the same!”

Dan laughed and replied, “I am honored to have met her. Please tell her so.”

“We celebrated May Day quite elaborately at Oxford. There was the choir singing madrigals, and morris dancers, and a maypole. In London, everything is so spread out. Perhaps there were morris dancers in some part of the city this morning, and perhaps one of the parks has a maypole, but it’s not quite the same in a large city, is it?”

Dan shook his head. “I must admit I miss the country festivals, but I would not have passed up my move to London, not for anything.”

“If you hadn’t moved here, we would never have met,” Phil pointed out, and they both smiled, working side by side as they distributed flowers into vases to decorate Phil’s flat.

Dan did not have to admit to anyone that he brought so many flowers so that not only the ladies but also Phil would get to enjoy them. It could be his secret. One of many. After all these years, he was accustomed to the constant subterfuge, but his feelings for Phil felt like the biggest secret of all.

 

* * *

 

**25 May 1939**

They were playing chess at the club, Dan giving Phil a thorough thrashing as usual, when Phil unexpectedly said, “My mother has asked if you would honor my family with a visit to celebrate your birthday next month.”

Dan blinked repeatedly. “Um … what?”

Phil said very slowly, “My. Mother. Has. Invited. You. To. Visit. For. Your. Birthday.” He grinned and asked in his normal voice, “What say you? Shall we go north for a week and celebrate the drawing of Daniel Howell’s first breath?”

Dan laughed, and so did Phil. His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth in that way it did when he was most amused, and Dan fell a little more in love. How could he possibly say no to a week with this man? And his wonderful family, of course, but at the moment all Dan could see was Phil, with his engaging giggle and sparkling eyes.

Nothing would ever come of it. He knew that. Perhaps Phil would stand up with him if he ever married Dora. Someday perhaps he could be “best man” at Phil’s wedding. He could not hope to be more than that to Phil, but—to him—Phil was everything.

“Of course,” Dan cried with the happiness he truly did feel, and with none of the sadness he hid. “I would love to come.”

 

* * *

 

**9 June 1939**

This time only the two elder Lesters met them at the train station, and Mrs. Lester rushed forward to hug both her son and Dan with kisses to their cheeks. She took Dan’s face in her hands and gave him a long look. “I heard that you were quite ill this spring, but you are quite well now?” Dan smiled and nodded, and she looked pleased. “I’m glad my Phil was there to take good care of you.”

Dan blushed at the intimacy of the portrait she painted. It was an accurate one, for Phil had certainly nursed him quite persistently, but hearing it described by someone else made it seem much more devoted and affectionate than had truly been the case. Phil was just a genuinely kind and considerate friend. No doubt he would have done the same for anyone of his acquaintance.

Mr. Lester moved forward to greet them, and this time he offered Dan no simple handshake but instead hugged him warmly. “It is good to have you back, my boy,” he told Dan heartily. The four of them walked to the car together, and Mr. Lester added, “And now you shall see our grounds unshrouded by snow! I’m sure Kathryn will delight in showing you her garden. The roses, in particular, are her pride and joy.” He smiled lovingly at his wife.

In the car, Dan asked Mrs. Lester, “Did Phil inherit his love of plants from you, ma’am? The solarium in his flat is quite beautiful!”

Mrs. Lester turned in her seat to look back at Dan and Phil seated beside each other. “I believe he did inherit my love of gardening, but unfortunately not my talent for the hobby.” Her eyes twinkled with her teasing. “I daren’t let him near my roses during his visits, for he might cause irreparable damage simply by looking at them askance.”

Phil pretended offense, but couldn’t suppress the laugh that emerged. Dan envied this easy banter between family members and felt immense gratitude that he would be able to spend his birthday among such pleasant company.

 

* * *

 

**10 June 1939**

Phil showed Dan around the grounds the following morning, and they enjoyed a slow stroll among the low hills and slow-moving river. They talked a bit, and Phil occasionally pointed out some interesting bit of scenery or told some anecdote, but primarily they just walked side by side, enjoying the beautiful country landscape, smiling at each other often and enjoying the gentle sunshine.

“This is my favorite place,” Phil confided, showing Dan a grassy area beside the river which was sheltered by weeping willows whose branches nearly reached the ground. They crouched to part the branches and enter their sheltering shade. Occasional sparkles of light made their way through the leaves to shine motes of sunshine on their faces and the lush grass around them. Phil lay back on the grass and put his hands behind his head, gazing up at their sheltering bower. “I would hide in here for hours and pretend that no one would ever find me, that I was completely safe and protected.” He smiled a little sadly, eyes still on the branches above them, and admitted, “Perhaps when I grew older I thought London would offer similar protection, though in a different way. No one really sees you there, do they? It is so large and impersonal. A good hiding place of its own.”

“But I found you,” Dan teased. “You might have been hiding, but I found you eventually. I didn’t even know I was looking, but I did find you.” He lay back on the grass by Phil’s side and mimicked his friend’s position with his hands behind his head, feeling utterly relaxed in this quiet, hidden haven. “Though I hope you still feel safe, even though you have been found.”

Phil’s voice was soft when he said, “I always feel safe with you, Dan. You are the best man I’ve ever known, and I am grateful every day for the fact that we did indeed find each other.”

Dan did not turn his head, however much he might want to, because he was afraid of what his features might betray in that moment. He cleared his throat. “And now we have come full circle,” he pointed out. “Returning to the safety of your childhood hiding place where no one can find us.”

“If only that were true,” Phil murmured, but when Dan did finally turn his head, he saw Phil just staring above them at the sun-dappled leaves of the willow tree, a wistful expression on his beautiful face.

They lay there a long time, just enjoying the soft susurration of the wind through the willow leaves as the branches swayed gently around them. The meandering river burbled nearby, and the entire setting seemed created specifically to create peace and harmony. Dan found himself drifting toward sleep and decided that he had no need to fight the sensation. He was safe here. In this private place, with Phil by his side, he had no fear, and he slid into sleep more easily than perhaps he ever had before.

He woke some time later, very slowly, his mind hazy with sleep. He listened to the sounds of nature around him and felt how very far they were from London’s busy streets. He heard a bird singing somewhere nearby. Turning his head, he saw Phil asleep beside him, his glasses removed and lying on the grass above his head. Glad of this chance, Dan simply watched his friend sleep, his eyes tracing the features he did not normally allow himself to examine so closely. Phil’s lips were so pink against his pale skin, his top lip so sharply curved. Dan wondered what it would be like to kiss that mouth.

Suddenly, he realized the inappropriateness of his behavior. He should not observe his friend in such a vulnerable state. “Phil,” he whispered, not wanting to wake the other man too suddenly. Phil blinked slowly, and then his eyes fluttered lazily open. He gazed up at Dan where he had lifted himself on one elbow, and his eyes were so blue in the sun-speckled shade of the tree that Dan felt his heart clench in his chest. He tried to lighten the mood by asking, “How well do you see without your spectacles?”

Phil’s voice was heavy with sleep when he replied, “Not well at all. We are surrounded by a world of blurred green, as far as I can tell.”

“May I try on your glasses?” Dan asked impishly.

Phil glanced around for them, and Dan plucked them from the grass to hold them up. Phil shrugged and nodded. Dan put the glasses on and looked around him at a warped world. “You must be  _blind_!” he exclaimed, handing the glasses back to Phil, who did not immediately put them back on, still looking sleepily content.

“How near must you be before you can see something clearly?” Dan asked, curious.

“I can see your face from this distance, but not the details,” Phil explained. Dan moved his face a bit closer. “Better,” Phil admitted, “but you’re still a bit blurry.” Dan moved his face even nearer, and now their faces were really quite close indeed and anyone observing the tableau would develop a very scandalous impression. Dan felt very aware of how near he was to Phil’s lips now, how little movement would be required to taste them for himself. “I can see your eyelashes now,” Phil whispered. “You’re quite clear at this distance.” Dan saw Phil’s Adam’s apple bob out of the corner of his eye. The two men gazed at each other for longer than they probably should, and then Dan found himself wondering what Phil might see in his eyes, and he pulled away sharply.

“We should go back,” he proclaimed, his voice sounding loud after the long hush that had surrounded them. “It must be nearly time for lunch.”

Phil put his spectacles back on and sat up, looking off toward where the willow branches nearly brushed the ground, then back at Dan with a soft smile. “We would not want to keep Mother waiting.” He rose to his feet and offered Dan a hand. Dan took it, and Phil helped pull him to his feet, then quickly let go of his grasp.

They parted the willow branches and emerged back into the sunlight, which had grown brighter while they were hidden beneath the tree’s leafy protection.

Neither spoke on the walk back to the house. The silence did not feel oppressive, but rather charged with words unsaid. Dan hoped he had not overstepped or made Phil uncomfortable, and he chastised himself for his overfamiliarity. He watched the beauty of the landscape as they walked, and he worried. But then Phil turned to look at him as they walked, and his smile shone so bright that all Dan’s fears fled.

 

* * *

 

**11 June 1939**

They had a full English breakfast on the morning of Dan’s birthday, and then the Lesters insisted on Dan opening his gifts immediately afterward. Dan insisted, just as he had at Christmas, that there had been no need for them to get gifts for him, but the Lester family insisted that they had wanted to do so, that they enjoyed giving him things that they hoped would make him happy. Just hearing the words was enough, though—he was happy already, just knowing that such kind people welcomed him into their home and hearts.

Martyn and Cornelia gave him an assortment of jams and marmalades in different flavors. “Phil tells us that you don’t cook often and live primarily on beans and toast,” Martyn teased him, “so we thought we would give you some additional condiments for your toast.”

“They’re somewhat themed gifts,” Cornelia added, pointing to another package that was labeled as also coming from them. Dan opened it to find a handwritten collection of many recipes. “They’re all simple recipes from my family,” Cornelia explained. “I hope you’ll try to experiment a bit, because I think you could be a fine cook if you tried. You obviously enjoy food when you eat food with us here, so I’d like to imagine you eating more delicious food in your own home, as well.”

Dan flipped through the pages of recipes, all requiring few ingredients and including clear instructions, and he looked up at Cornelia. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I promise to try.” He didn’t say anything about Dora, about their assumption that he would be cooking for himself rather than having a wife cook for him. He didn’t want to think about Dora right now. He rarely did, if he was honest, and he got the impression she didn’t think often about him, either. Their engagement seemed to satisfy both their families, and that was enough.

So Dan found himself rather hoping that he would have plenty of time to cook for himself and try Cornelia’s family recipes. He gave her and Martyn a grateful smile. “Thank you both.”

Martyn pointed out, “I’m afraid Steven quite rudely did not choose a gift for you, but I’m sure he wishes you a happy birthday nonetheless.” Dan held out his arms, and Martyn passed the baby to him. Dan bounced him in his lap and held onto his tiny hands.

“Did you not get me a present?” Dan asked Steven in a sweet voice. “I forgive you, little fellow. If you will give me a hug, I will consider that the best present of all.” Steven was old enough now to understand the word “hug,” and so he threw his little arms around Dan’s neck and Dan hugged him gently, placing a kiss on the side of the downy-haired head. He looked up to see Martyn and Cornelia watching with fond smiles on their faces.

“You’re very good with him,” Cornelia said, and Dan considered it a great compliment. “But there are more presents to open, and I fear he would get in the way of that process, so perhaps you should give him back to Mummy.”

“Must I?” Dan joked, turning away with the child teasingly. He bounced Steven again, and the baby laughed, but then Dan reluctantly yielded him back to his mother, who reached for him and held him lovingly in her arms as additional presents were brought into the room.

Mrs. Lester presented him with a large, bulky, rectangular package. “This may be difficult to transport back to London with you, but I hope you will find room for it on the train.” Dan tore the paper to find a sort of blanket made of different scraps of fabric. “It’s a quilted coverlet for your bed,” Mrs. Lester explained. “They are quite popular in America. I’ve made a few, and this one has been stored in the guest room and rarely used for years. When I heard that you were ill, I found myself wishing that you had a warm, pretty quilt to comfort you while you recovered. Now you will have one for the future. I know it is not the most colorful bedding you might find, but it was made with love by my own hands, and I hope that imbues it with additional warmth.” The quilt was in a checked pattern of white, grays, and black. Indeed, it was not as colorful as some might prefer, but Dan’s own tastes ran to the simple and elegant, so it suited him perfectly.

“I love it,” he told Mrs. Lester honestly. “I shall put it on my bed to replace my plain duvet, and every night when I go to sleep, I will be literally warmed by you and your family. My memories of times with you all will warm my heart even as this blanket warms my body. I thank you most gratefully!”

He hesitantly stood and approached Mrs. Lester, and the older woman understood his intention and stood to give him a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek. She patted his other cheek and smiled at him. “You’re a good boy. I’m glad my Philip found you.”

It reminded him too much of the earlier conversation under the willow tree.

Mr. Lester gave him a book of music, apparently all classical pieces. Dan tried to hide his shame and embarrassment, because apparently Phil’s parents did not know that he could not read music and could only play by ear. He smiled, though, and thanked Mr. Lester, only to be interrupted by Phil.

“Dad!” Phil objected. “My present had to come first!”

Mr. Lester backed away with his hands held up in surrender, laughing. “Go ahead, my boy. I do apologize.”

Phil presented Dan with a simple envelope that contained one sheet of paper. Dan read it and tried to keep tears from springing to his eyes, for he did not want to cry in front of these near strangers. For they were very kind and generous people, but still he would rather not see him so openly vulnerable.

He looked at Phil, who was smiling hesitantly, as if unsure of the reception his gift would receive. “Piano lessons?” Dan asked. “You’re giving me piano lessons for my birthday?”

Phil still looked uncertain. “Well, you said you’d always wanted lessons, and now you can use the book of music,” he handed Dan the book Mr. Lester had given as his gift, “and you can learn to read music and play as well as you like. I think you already play beautifully, so this is no intended slight on your abilities, but I just thought it might be something you would like.” He watched Dan with hopeful eyes.

“It’s the best gift anyone has ever given me,” Dan assured him in all honesty. “Twenty-four lessons? That is too much!”

Phil shook his head, relaxed now that he knew his gift was well-received. “It will allow you a lesson each week, enough that you can decide if you’ve learned as much as you like … or if you would like more lessons as a Christmas gift.” He giggled, and his tongue did that adorable thing where it peeked out of the corner of his mouth. Then he became more serious and assured Dan, “I asked several people for recommendations, and this teacher has an excellent reputation.”

“I’m sure it will be wonderful,” Dan told him, reaching out to rest a hand on top of Phil’s and squeezing gently. “Thank you so very much, Phil. It means a great deal to me.” Then he shyly pulled his hand away and looked around at the Lester family, worried that someone might have seen his indiscretion, but all were smiling at him and seemed filled with joy.

Martyn suggested, “Though you have not had lessons yet, we all enjoy your playing even now. My wife sings quite beautifully, so would you be willing to accompany her for a celebratory tune in honor of your birthday?”

And so they ended the morning’s festivities in music and song, the whole family together. At nearly 10 a.m., it was already the best birthday Dan had ever had.

 

* * *

 

In the late morning, Dan and Phil went for another of their quiet walks together through the surrounding countryside. Dan tried to memorize every sight and smell and sound, so that he might recall them in less happy times. For, indeed, these were the happiest of times.

On the top of a small hill, with a view of the willow trees and meandering river, Phil stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait a moment,” Phil said quietly. “Hold still.” Then Phil leaned close, and Dan’s heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he was sure Phil must be able to hear it. Phil blew gently on Dan’s neck, and Dan shivered in reaction, closing his eyes. “Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,” Phil murmured.

Dan opened his eyes and looked into Phil’s face so close to him. Phil’s cheeks grew pink and he pulled further away. “It’s good luck for one to land on you, but I did not want her to be accidentally harmed and leave her many children an orphan.”

Dan nodded, understanding that Phil had simply been encouraging the ladybird to fly off his neck, but he still felt the warmth of Phil’s breath against his sensitive skin and could not help but tremble. His legs felt a bit weak as they continued their walk.

They found Phil’s secret bower under the willow tree again and lay side by side, not putting their hands beneath their heads this time. Instead, they simply lay there, gazing up at the leaves glittering here and there in the sunshine, and the lengths of their arms touched gently all along between them.

Hesitantly, Dan moved his hand closer to Phil’s and hooked their pinky fingers together. So small an intimacy, and yet it felt like the most beautiful moment of his life.

They lay there a long time, not talking, not looking at each other, just gazing upward at the sheltering tree with their hands linked so delicately and yet with such a passionate impact on Dan’s helpless longing.

 

* * *

 

At dinner, as they all sat at the table in the garden in the last hours before sunset, Mrs. Lester brought out a beverage which she called a Pimm’s Cup, and it was certainly the most extravagant beverage Dan had ever seen. The Lesters laughed when they saw his awed expression, and explained that this was something they made for all special occasions in the summertime when fruit was plentiful.

It looked quite as if someone had prepared an elaborate and beautiful fruit salad, and then poured a sweet liqueur over it. The glasses were filled with sliced oranges and peaches, ripe whole raspberries and strawberries, and thinly-sliced rounds of cucumber to give the beverage a variety of colors and shapes. It was extraordinarily beautiful, and Dan told the Lesters so. Mrs. Lester seemed quite flattered at his reaction and promised him that he should have a Pimm’s Cup every year on his birthday in the Lester household.

Dan thought of his parents’ pressures for him to marry, and he feared that lovely moments like those he’d had during this trip might become only fond, bittersweet memories. But he smiled when the Lesters toasted him and praised the day of his birth, and he avoided Phil’s gaze because he was afraid that Phil, who knew him best, might see the bit of sadness he could not contain.

 

* * *

 

**16 June 1939**

The night before they were to return to London, Dan and Phil went out to the back garden and lay on the soft grass to look up at the myriad stars that filled the sky.

“We never see stars like this in London,” Phil commented. “I miss it.”

“I will miss all of this,” Dan replied. “Every bit of it.” He waited a moment, then whispered into the night, “I wish we never had to return. This is like a world apart, and I wish we could stay forever.”

Phil reached out in the darkness and took his hand, and they lay there in the darkness regarding the stars they must soon leave behind for the comparatively dark skies of London.

 

* * *

 

**17 June 1939**

On the train ride home, Dan found that he could not focus on his book, and Phil seemed similarly distracted, as every time Dan glanced at him Phil seemed to be staring out the window at the passing countryside with a pensive look on his face.

And so they returned to London, where he and Phil spent just as much time together as they had before, but Phil seemed increasingly quiet and withdrawn. His smiles grew smaller, his laughter quieter, and his furtive glances at Dan’s face more frequent.

It seemed almost as if he were waiting for something, though Dan did not know what. The question troubled him a great deal.

But when they played goofspiel at the club or attended movies at the theater, their friendship seemed as solid as ever. And if Phil’s hand occasionally lingered on Dan’s when they happened to touch accidentally, Dan could only cherish those moments and wish that they meant as much to Phil as they did to him.

 

* * *

 

**15 July 1939**

A few weeks after they had returned home, Dan found a letter in the morning post, written in a hand he didn’t recognize.

-

_13 July 1939_

_Dear Daniel,_

_I hope I do not presume in my salutation, but it is true that you have become dear to me. Our friendship, in fact, is one of the most cherished parts of my life and I would do nothing to endanger it. If I have misunderstood your feelings, please disregard this letter, but if I have not, please know that I am_

_Yours,_

_Philip Lester_

-

Dan re-read the letter several times, certain that he must have misunderstood Phil’s meaning. But the closing of the letter, Phil saying, “I am yours” … he could see no other way to interpret the words. Was it truly possible that Phil shared his feelings?

He sat at his writing desk for full an hour, uncertain what to write. He thought of Phil silently taking his hand as they lay together under the stars that last night up north, and then finally he knew what he should say. He must be honest, and stop all these hopeless efforts at hiding and protecting his heart.

-

_15 July 1939_

_Dear Philip,_

_You do not presume too much in your letter, as you are dearer to me than any other person ever has been. I have never felt such connection and affection for anyone I have ever known, and the knowledge of your regard gladdens my heart more than you can possibly comprehend._

_I would never wish to lose your friendship, and so if I have misconstrued the meaning of your letter, I am greatly embarrassed and apologize so abjectly that I hope you can someday forgive me. But if I have not misconstrued your words, and if you do, in fact, offer me your heart, please know that I offer mine with equal fervor in exchange._

_Yours,_

_Daniel Howell_


	9. Dan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who were pleased to finally see a letter from Dan in the last chapter, you should enjoy this.
> 
> I can't remember if I mentioned this in the previous chapter's notes, but the fic is now 11 chapters instead of 10, because this sappy romantic chapter just got two long and so I split it in two rather than trim it down to give less sap. So you get 2 chapters of romance instead of 1.

**15 July 1939**

Dan felt as if he might vibrate out of his skin, his nervousness was so great when he went to the BBC for their broadcast the next afternoon. This would be the first time he had seen Phil since receiving his letter. He had posted his own reply a mere hour ago, and so Phil would, of course, not have received it yet and surely must be in a state of extreme anxiety regarding how his words had been received. He had taken such a chance in writing to Dan, more of a chance than Dan thought he would have been able to take himself, and Dan could not help but feel grateful for Phil’s courage in the face of this difficult situation.

When he entered the room at the BBC, Phil was not yet there, so Dan took a seat and waited with a mounting mixture of excitement and nervousness. When, at last, Phil entered the room, his eyes immediately sought out Dan’s, and their gazes met like crashing waves, like cymbals ringing against each other, and it seemed absurd that no one else in the room was aware of that momentous second in time.

Phil’s eyes widened, as he no doubt knew from Dan’s expression that his letter had been received. He bit his lip and looked down at the floor, seeking his seat in what looked like a paroxysm of anxiety.

He did not meet Dan’s eyes again until the tones that indicated the start of the broadcast, and then he hesitantly looked up through his lashes and their gazes held. Phil looked so hopeful and vulnerable. Dan gave him a small smile, and it seemed to reassure him, as Dan saw Phil heave a sigh as his shoulders dropped from where they’d been hovering around his ears.

Throughout the entire broadcast, Phil glanced repeatedly to meet Dan’s eyes again and again, his own confidence seeming to grow with each encouraging smile.

When the broadcast was over, Dan asked casually, “Care to stop by the pub?” and Phil actually blushed.

Neither of them made any reference to the letter or its contents, but they chatted over drinks at the pub with a new tension between them.

 

* * *

 

**18 July 1939**

While practicing the piano in his flat, Dan was surprised to hear a knock at his front door. When he opened the door, he found Phil waiting with hands hooked awkwardly into his trouser pockets. He still looked as debonair as ever, with his shining hair and noble features, his slightly ill-fitting expensive suit, but he also seemed adorably shy. He’d never shown up at Dan’s door unannounced like this before.

He must have received Dan’s response to his letter. He must know now that Dan returned his feelings, that Dan felt the same depth of emotion and wanted the same romantic connection.

But neither of them could say anything to that effect. It was unlikely that anyone would report them to the police for an offhand comment, or that they would be officially investigated even if that did happen, but the slightest scandal could destroy both their careers, and so they would need to exercise the utmost caution.

“The weather is quite fine today,” Phil said, color high on his cheekbones. “I wondered if you might like to take a walk through the park.”

Dan grinned with a rush of giddy delight. “Let me grab my coat.”

And so they walked along the paths of Hyde Park, commenting on this and that, everything and nothing. Just two young gentlemen out for a stroll. Nothing scandalous or unusual about that at all. But they both knew that the world of thoughts and feelings between them that could not be spoken were clear with every hesitant glance and nervous smile.

 

* * *

 

**21 July 1939**

Phil suggested that they attend the London Symphony Orchestra, and Dan felt flattered. He knew Phil did not appreciate music as much as he himself did, and so it was clearly an attempt to please Dan. The fact that Phil even thought to do so meant a great deal to him, as it showed his thoughtfulness, how much he cared.

They dressed in their best finery, and Phil looked quite stunningly handsome. His tailor had cut his tuxedo much better than his suits for daily wear, or perhaps it had been a different tailor entirely, for this garment made him look like one of the most elegant Hollywood film stars. Dan stood gaping at him when Phil arrived on his doorstep until Phil cleared his throat uncomfortably and asked, “Do I not look all right?”

“You look,” Dan stopped to search for words, but could find none that were sufficient. “You look like a star, freshly fallen from the sky,” he finally said, then cringed at his own words. But the sudden bashful smile on Phil’s face made his own embarrassment worth it.

When they arrived at the concert hall and received their programs, Dan perused the selection of pieces that the orchestra would be playing that evening. He and Phil found their seats, and Phil leaned close to Dan’s shoulder to point at an item in the program. The scent of his skin and the warmth of his body made Dan’s breath catch, and he almost did not hear what Phil was saying. But he realized that Phil was pointing at the line that said, “Ludwig van Beethoven,  _Bagatelle No. 25 in A minor._ ”

“I believe this is the piece you mentioned before, is it not? The one they call ‘Für Elise’?” Phil asked, sounding uncertain but hopeful. “This was the piece that made you want to learn piano, right? I thought you might like to hear it performed.”

Dan turned to look at Phil, moved that Phil had remembered such a small detail, and found their faces very close together. Phil was still pressed close to Dan’s side where he had leaned to point out the item in the program, and they both froze. After what felt like several minutes but must have been mere seconds, Phil pulled back so that he was sitting upright and looked around them, but no one seemed to have noticed anything untoward.

Dan looked down at the program in his hand, at the listing of Beethoven’s composition that meant so much to Dan personally. He thought again of Phil’s birthday gift of piano lessons that had been bringing Dan such fulfillment after so many years of hopeless longing.

So many years of hopeless longing.

He looked at Phil.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Phil smiled. “I thought you would like it.”

Dan let everything he felt show in his eyes as he replied, “I love it.”

 

* * *

 

**23 July 1939**

Dan sat down to write another letter to Phil. It was nearly painful to see him nearly every day and yet be unable to speak of these intense emotions between them. And yet, at the same time, he did not know if he would even know what to do or say if they were to address the issue directly. And so he put his thoughts onto the page once more.

-

_23 July 1939_

_Dearest Philip,_

_I live for your letters, and every moment I spend in your presence I wish to speak my feelings aloud but know I mustn’t. No one would understand the beauty of what we experience together._

_For most of my life, I have known that I was different, that I was somehow defective, and that is why I did not marry. I tried to hide my deficiency from the world, for I did not want anyone to know that something was so very wrong with me._

_But that night when you held my hand in yours on the grass beneath the stars, I knew in my very soul that this was in no way wrong. Nothing in my entire life has felt so right as the perfection of that moment. When I received your first letter and realized that you shared my feelings, my heart took flight as if seeking yours through the aether, and I think it has not returned to my body yet as it wishes only to reside with you._

_Yours with great joy and the utmost happiness,  
_ _Daniel_

-

After sealing and addressing the envelope, Dan sat contemplatively holding it in his lap for a long moment.

He knew he could not marry Dora. He could never truly love her, and his feelings for Phil had only proven that more thoroughly than he had already known it before. And yet … his family expected certain things from him. A family. Children. A certain role in society. He had been raised to obey his parents and avoid embarrassing them in any way.

He looked at the letter in his hands and knew that what he perceived as joy, they would perceive as shame.

He knew he must end his engagement—it was a farce when he felt these feelings for Phil—but he felt pressure from not only his family but also the entire society around them. The old, familiar questions arose for him: How could he live an authentic life in an absurd world full of ridiculous rules? Why couldn’t society around them simply allow him and Phil to be together without these illogical laws and unnecessary expectations?

He wished he had not yet sealed the letter, for he had felt such joy upon finishing it, such bliss when signing his name, that he wished he could reread it to find that joy again. In that moment, as he held the envelope in his hand, he felt the world pressing around him on all sides so acutely that it seemed to crush the brilliant diamond of his elation, destroying it, until it simply slipped through his desperate fingers like so much sand.

 

* * *

 

**8 August 1939 – 15 August 1939**

-

_8 August 1939_

_My dearest,_

_You write that you are falling, that I must catch you in my arms. I fear to tell you that I, too, fall further and deeper with every passing day. Perhaps, in falling together, we may find some safe landing that cradles us both in safety and love._

_While we may both be falling, in using that word, love, I alone take a voluntary, terrifying leap into that fall. In the salutations of your letters, you have called me your beloved, but you have not used that word in the body of what you write._

_I will hold back the words no longer, as I have felt them in my soul for many months now, long before our precious hours beneath the sheltering willow trees. I love you. This love is not new to me, for I have held it close and private through many hours at the club, many radio rehearsals and broadcasts, many conversations you may have considered only friendly._

_This admission frightens me, for I fear that these feelings between us may be new to you and so you may pity me the longevity of my silent devotion._

_I end this letter in some anxiety about your response, but, as always, yours,  
_ _Daniel_

_-_

_11 August 1939_

_My most beloved Daniel,_

_I do love you. I love you most ardently, and these feelings are not new. I, too, have gazed at you with longing in my heart and wished that I might hold you close, but I did not believe you would welcome such attentions, and so I hid my emotions as best I could._

_I hide them no longer. I do love you. I love you with every beat of my heart, every breath of my lungs._

_I love you. I love you. I love you. Never doubt it._

_Most devotedly yours,  
_ _Philip_

_-_

_15 August 1939_

_My Dearest Philip,_

_Your most recent letter is the dearest possession I shall ever have in my life, and I shall cherish it always, forever keeping it close to me for the rest of my days._

_You love me as I love you, and this thought is a revelation, a blessing, a miracle for which I shall never cease to be grateful. The universe has bestowed upon me the most beautiful of wonders in granting me your love, and I hope that the poor heart I offer you in return may in some way repay the grace you have granted me._

_Ardently,  
_ _Your loving Daniel_

 

* * *

 

**28 August 1939**

While they played chess at Phil’s club, Dan’s fingers accidentally brushed Phil’s as they both reached for popcorn. They both looked up from the board, and their eyes met and held. Every word they had written but not spoken hovered between them like an intoxicating mist of emotion.

Phil bit his lip and looked back down at the board, pulling his hand away without having taken any popcorn at all, as if he had forgotten what he had been in the midst of doing. Dan worried for a moment that Phil might be regretting their time together, the letters he’d written, the promises he’d made—Dan’s mind raced with horrible scenarios.

And then Phil looked up at him from beneath his lashes and smiled shyly, and Dan’s heart calmed. They were true to each other. They may not have said the words aloud, but they were nonetheless true.

Dan smiled at Phil in return, and they turned back to their game as if nothing of import had transpired. And, in the eyes of all those around them, nothing had.

 

* * *

 

**2 September 1939 – 6 September 1939**

_-_

_2 September 1939_

_Most Beloved Daniel,_

_If I may be so bold as to ask, when did you first become aware of your affection for me? I must admit that I am curious. For my own part, I know that I had admired you from our first meeting but only became aware of the extent of my attachment when you informed me of your engagement. I must admit that in that moment I was struck through the heart and knew not what to say. I had not realized how deeply I had come to care for you before I heard those words from your lips._

_I apologize for leaving so abruptly the next day, and with no word to you, but I felt a desperate need for the comfort of my loving family beside me when I felt such distress. I hope you will not feel guilt that I reacted thus, for I am certain you had no idea that your words or their import would so deeply affect me, but I had great need of the affection and warmth of my mother, especially, in those difficult days. As you know, she is a deeply loving person, and I felt a terrible longing for such comfort at that time, as I was then convinced that you could never love me as I then realized that I loved you. I felt hopeless, lost, a boat without a mooring, adrift in a love that had no end in sight and no possibility of reciprocity._

_The fact that you now profess such emotions for me is a gift I could never have predicted, expected, or even hoped for. I am grateful every day, every moment, for the love you have offered me._

_Devotedly yours,  
_ _Philip_

-

Dan himself felt struck through the heart by Phil’s words. The letter offered no blame regarding Dan’s engagement to Dora, no requests or expectations, but Dan knew that this continuing commitment must still cause Phil pain, and that knowledge itself caused Dan pain in turn.

Surely this situation could not continue, and yet Dan could not bring himself to disappoint and shame his family by ending the longstanding engagement. Such an action would not only disappoint Dora but put her into an awkward social position, and their two families would surely cease all friendly interaction. In such a small village, this strife would cause everyone involved a great deal of discomfort and difficulty.

Dan could not find the strength to cause so much disruption and unhappiness to so many people he had known his entire life. And yet the dishonesty he had hidden for so long had now grown even more acute.

This internal conflict could not continue indefinitely, but Dan had no idea how he could resolve it without causing pain to someone he cared about. Perhaps there was, in fact, no way to do so. He dropped his head into his hands and despaired.

But Phil had asked him a question, and Dan owed him an answer. He took up his pen.

-

_6 September 1939_

_My dearest,_

_You ask when I first became aware of the depth of my feelings for you, when I first realized that the flutterings in my heart bespoke love and not merely friendly affection, and I think you will be surprised by my answer._

_Looking back with honest eyes, I can see that my regard for you began turning toward love during our very first meeting. When you whispered to me that you would prefer to play Puck in our production of_ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _, I began to fall. In that moment, knowing so little of you except the kindness and humor in your eyes—the boyish, playful longings we both shared—I fell. I did not see it immediately—I knew only that I valued your company above all others, that I longed for your admiration and attention—but I can now see that those feelings were the earliest stirrings of this enduring devotion._

_Will you think me frivolous, that I developed such an attachment so quickly? I can assure you that it had never happened before. It was you. Simply you. I saw you, spoke with you, and my heart knew it had found its match, its one and only true partner among all others in the world._

_No other exists for me but you._

_With ardent affection,  
_ _Daniel_

_-_

Dan put the pen down on the desk and reread the letter before addressing the envelope. “No other exists for me but you,” he had written, and yet he continued to promise himself to another. As he addressed the envelope, writing that most beloved name, he felt disgust at his own hypocrisy.

 

* * *

 

**20 September 1939**

They walked out of the cinema together after watching “The Man They Could Not Hang,” which was the scariest of the films they’d seen together thus far.

“I rather wish I could take your arm and huddle up against you to keep away the monsters,” Dan joked, then noticed guiltily when Phil glanced around them. Was he nervous that someone may have heard what Dan had said? “I’m just teasing,” Dan said more loudly, trying to set things right. Phil looked at him in confusion.

This was going all wrong. He needed to just behave naturally. The problem was that his natural inclinations now, after all they had to written to each other, were to curl up against Phil like a kitten, and that just wouldn’t do. Not in private, and certainly not on the pavement in front of the cinema.

They never spoke of those written words, those truths too private to risk exposure to the world. Their eyes might betray their feelings if anyone had known to look, but they hid their secrets well.

“Shall I walk you home?” Phil suggested. “I can catch a taxi from there.” Dan nodded, and they began walking side by side in the direction of Dan’s flat. Their steps were slow, neither of them wanting to rush toward the moment when they must part. Occasionally, they cast glances at each other, smiling when their eyes met. Dan chuckled and ducked his head shyly the third or fourth time it happened. They were like lovers in a film or book, unable to keep their eyes off each other … like nothing Dan had ever experienced in the real world before this.

“Should I not look at you?” Phil asked, and Dan couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

Dan glanced around to see no one else nearby before saying quietly, “I like when you look at me.” He could feel his cheeks heat with his blush, but was glad that the lamplight would not be bright enough to make his embarrassment obvious.

Though if there was anyone he was comfortable being that vulnerable with, it was Phil.

He jumped slightly when he felt Phil’s hand brush his lightly, as if by chance. He looked at Phil, who smiled at him and said simply, “Me, too.”

They walked in near silence until a light rain began to fall when they were not far from Dan’s flat. “Blast!” Phil exclaimed when the rain began to fall more heavily. “I don’t have an umbrella. I’ll have the devil’s time finding a taxi on the street in this rain!”

They both broke into a trot. “Come in and phone a taxi from my flat,” Dan suggested as they jogged, his hair flattening to his head as the rain ruined his carefully styled slick hairstyle. At least in this kind of rain, his hair would be too soggy to spring into its natural curls and utterly shame him.

When they arrived at the flat, Dan opened the door quickly and they both rushed inside, drenched to the skin. After their sprint, they were both breathing heavily. They turned to look at each other, both soaking wet, and broke into laughter. Dan pushed his hair out of his face and saw Phil do the same.

Phil removed his spectacles, complaining, “These things are useless in the rain, and then they promptly fog up when I enter a warm room!” He tucked them into his shirt pocket and then pushed his hair back again before letting his eyes rest on Dan and stay there.

Cold droplets of water were dripping from Dan’s hair onto his sensitive neck, and it made him shiver. He tried to keep his voice light as he joked, “Without your spectacles, I must look like only a blur right now.”

“A beautiful blur,” Phil replied with a smile. “And perhaps it only means I need to come closer.”

This stepped beyond their usual flirting into potentially dangerous territory, and so Dan said brightly, “Let’s get you that taxi,” a little embarrassed by how breathy his voice sounded. But Phil rested a hand on his arm again, just enough to keep Dan from turning away. He looked into Phil’s pale eyes, so striking without his spectacles, and found he couldn’t break the connection, extremely aware of the feel of Phil’s gentle touch and the harsh sound of their combined breathing in the silent entryway.

Suddenly, Dan felt a rush of bravery and asked hesitantly, “Would you like to … you could take your coat off and dry your hair. You could … stay a while. We could talk.”

Phil gazed at him mutely in surprise at this unexpected invitation, then smiled tentatively and nodded.

Dan showed him in and took his coat, which was soaking wet from the rain. He hung it on a peg near the front door, along with Phil’s scarf and his own coat. Then he and Phil stood awkwardly near the entryway, neither knowing what to say. They had previously avoided such potentially scandalous privacy, but at this moment, Dan simply could not force himself to ask Phil to leave.

Eyeing Phil’s wet clothing, Dan said, “We seem to wear a similar size. Would you like to borrow some dry clothes? You might be more comfortable. If you don’t find it overly forward, that is.” Suddenly overcome with embarrassment, Dan waved his hands and looked down at the floor, feeling humiliated that he had suggested something so inappropriate. “In fact, never mind. I’ve obviously overstepped.”

But then he felt Phil’s finger lifting his chin so that their eyes met again. “Some dry clothes would be lovely. I thank you very much for the kindness of the offer.” He seemed a bit stiff, perhaps nervous, but smiled.

Dan hunched his shoulders slightly in embarrassment for overreacting and nodded, probably more than was strictly necessary. Then he fled to his bedroom to fetch some dry clothes for Phil. He chose some wool trousers and a warm, fleecy jumper, wanting Phil to feel comfortable in his home. They could build a fire, as well.

When he returned to the lounge, he found Phil standing awkwardly in the center of the room. “I didn’t want to sit,” Phil explained. “I didn’t want to get your furniture wet.”

“Oh!” Dan exclaimed, embarrassed again. “Of course! Let me … I’ll get you a towel … and here are some dry clothes.” He held the clothes out to Phil, who took them and held them carefully away from his drenched body. Dan fetched a towel and showed Phil where to find the toilet so that he could dry off and change into the borrowed clothing.

Phil emerged a few moments later looking much less posh than usual, and Dan was surprisingly moved by the sight of Phil in the more casual garments, primarily because Dan had worn those familiar clothes so many times himself. It somehow felt extremely intimate—this sharing—even if it was only a few pieces of cloth against skin. Phil gestured to himself and said, smiling, “You were right. Your clothes fit me quite well.”

“Let me start a fire in the grate,” Dan suggested, but Phil stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Leave the fire to me,” Phil insisted. “You should go change into some dry clothes yourself. You look half frozen.”

“Oh,” Dan said, looking down at himself. He’d forgotten that he, too, was soaking wet, so focused was he on Phil’s comfort. “Of course. I’ll go change. Back in a moment.” And he fled the room where Phil looked so tempting with his tousled hair and borrowed jumper.

There was no way to salvage his hair, simply no way at all, and so Dan simply toweled it until it was no longer dripping and decided that he would have to allow Phil to see his hair in its wavy natural state, as the Brylcreem could no longer hold it in place properly after being so thoroughly exposed to the pouring rain. He changed into some comfortable clothes, including a black jumper that was quite soft and, he hoped, looked quite handsome on him, even though he was embarrassed by his desire to look attractive for Phil.

But why should he be embarrassed? They had expressed their mutual feelings. He knew that Phil shared his attraction, his love. Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, he returned to the lounge, where Phil was crouched in front of the grate, stoking the fire. Phil turned to look at him, and his eyes roamed from Dan’s stocking feet to his damp, wavy hair, and then back down again. Dan shivered under that heated gaze.

“I think the fire will warm the room quickly,” Phil said, returning to standing. As they stood there again, facing each other uncomfortably, Dan frantically wracked his brain for some way to make this all less awkward.

“Shall we sit?” Dan suggested. “Or I could … I could play the piano for you. You could hear the results of your birthday present. I mean, I haven’t improved tremendously, but … never mind.” He could feel his face heat. “Oh, I’m a disaster,” he moaned, laughing at himself, safe in the knowledge that Phil would not judge him.

Phil stepped closer and slowly wrapped his arms around Dan, a far gentler embrace than the masculine hugs they had occasionally exchanged over the course of their friendship. Dan leaned into Phil’s body and wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist, leaning his head down to rest on Phil’s shoulder. “I would love to hear you play,” Phil said quietly. “But I would much more, at least for tonight, prefer to sit with you in my arms, if that would not make you uncomfortable.”

Dan lifted his head to look into Phil’s face, once again bespectacled, and replied softly, “I would like that very much.”

And so they settled onto the sofa, cuddled together, and listened to each other’s quiet breathing and heartbeats for a long time.

 

* * *

 

**26 September 1939**

The morning after his evening in Phil’s arms, Dan woke with a feeling of peace that he had not felt in a long time, perhaps ever. He knew that they had not broken the letter of the law that forbade a man loving another man, and yet they had violated the spirit of that law.

But he felt that he could not believe in a law that prohibited something of such beauty and joy.

And so, one morning a few days later, he sat down at his desk and composed another letter to Phil. Like the letter in which he had first declared his love, this one took a great chance, for he did not know if Phil would likewise be willing to hazard this risk, but for his own happiness—and Phil’s own, he hoped—he considered the emotional jeopardy worth the potential gain.

-

_26 September 1939_

_My dearest Philip,_

_I have given this a great deal of thought, and so I do not wish you to think that I take this matter lightly. I know that it would involve some amount of risk to both our reputations, and I respect the fact that you may not consider that danger worthwhile, but allow me to suggest that perhaps there is no reason that two young men—friends and colleagues—might spend time alone together upon occasion in each other’s homes. None would, I think, see anything amiss in such behavior._

_I do not, of course, propose any activities illegal or immoral, but I found our recent evening together at my house to be so delightful in its privacy that I have decided to take the chance of suggesting that other such evenings might be possible._

_If I have given offense, I apologize, for I do not wish you to believe me harboring inappropriate intentions. I simply believe that an evening as lovely as that which we shared cannot be in any way wrong. I hope that you will not blame me for feeling so._

_In some anxiety,  
_ _Daniel_

_-_

Dan sealed the letter, not giving himself any time to doubt himself or possibly change his mind. He addressed the envelope quickly and immediately walked to the postbox on the corner, where he deposited the letter with a shaking hand.

There. It was done. Either their relationship would change, allowing for more privacy and intimacy, or Phil would chastise him for daring to suggest that he might be willing to behave in such a scandalous fashion, simply because it had happened once by chance.

He returned home, knowing that in the evening he would see Phil, all innocent of the behavior Dan had so boldly proposed. Dan looked at his trembling hands and wondered if Phil would be able to read his nervousness without even needing to read the letter itself.

In a few days, the letter would arrive, and then Dan would see Phil again, and he would know.


	10. Dan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long delay. Blame my surgery and its complications!

******29 September 1939**

After rehearsal, Dan and Phil gravitated toward each other as usual and chatted about how the play was progressing.

“Care for a game of chess at the club?” Dan asked casually.

Phil glanced around, seeming nervous, and then suggested haltingly, “I thought … perhaps … well … I would like to take you up on that offer … the offer to play piano at your flat … if you still want to do that.”

Swallowing past an anxious lump in his throat, Dan realized that Phil had received his letter. “Er … yes … I would like that,” he replied, lowering his voice a bit despite the fact that their conversation would not appear unusual to anyone who might hear it. “I can show you the results of the piano lessons I’ve been taking.”

 

* * *

 

It was only the second time in their entire acquaintance that they had been completely alone together. Always before, there had been co-workers, pub patrons, members of the club …  _someone_. Even at Phil’s home, Gemma and Mrs. Jameson had been nearby to prevent any possible interpretation of impropriety.

But now they were alone. For the second time. And the first time, they had ended up in each other’s arms.

Dan felt his heart racing and his breath coming fast. He walked to the piano and sat on the bench, letting his fingers come to rest just very lightly on the keys. Looking a bit confused, Phil walked to the sofa and sat down.

Phil had probably assumed that the piano was a mere excuse for them to be alone together, and indeed it had been, but now that the moment arrived and they found themselves completely alone, Dan felt himself shaking with nerves. Perhaps playing the piano would calm him.

He played a few pieces he had been practicing in his lessons. “I’m able to read the music your father gave me for Christmas now,” he said proudly. “At least, somewhat.” And then he blushed, because that had sounded like bragging.

From across the room, Phil smiled and said, “He will be glad to hear it. I’ll tell him the next time we talk on the telephone.”

As he continued to idly play fragments of familiar pieces, probably not even aware he was doing so, Dan asked, “Do you speak to them often?” He took shelter in small talk to hide his nervousness.

Phil nodded. “Perhaps once a week. We’re quite close, you know.”

“I know,” Dan replied, and he could hear the envy in his own voice. “They’re lovely people.”

Phil shifted position on the sofa and looked down at his hands in his lap. “Would you prefer that I go?” He sounded apologetic, which made Dan feel even worse than he already had.

“No,” he insisted. “No, of course not! Please stay.”

Phil looked at him, eyes confused behind his spectacles. “The last time I was here…”

Dan felt the blood rushing to his face and looked down at his hands on the piano keyboard.

Phil cleared his throat. “But now you seem … I think you perhaps regret the events of that evening?”

Dan raised his gaze abruptly to meet Phil’s eyes. “No! I do not regret it at all! It is just…”

“What? Phil asked. “What’s wrong?”

Dan questioned himself, what he felt, why he hesitated, why he felt so very nervous when they had already expressed themselves so openly in their letters and had been so physically close as well. “It’s just…” he groped for words to explain his feelings, “last time, it all happened so suddenly, so … naturally. There was no room for hesitation. No time to question.”

Phil nodded, his expression sad. “And now you have had time to think and prefer not to…”

But Dan interrupted him. “It is not that I don’t want to … be … close to you. I would not have invited you to my home otherwise. It’s only that, as the day has progressed, I have grown increasingly nervous about what I would say, how I would behave…”

“You’ve grown self-conscious,” Phil guessed.

Dan nodded, looking down at his piano keyboard again. “I suppose I have. It now feels quite forward to behave as we did on that previous occasion.”

Phil smiled at him softly. “Perhaps you could just come sit with me? We needn’t touch at all, though I would perhaps like to hold your hand?” He made it a question, which put Dan a bit more at ease. He had feared Phil’s expectations and his own shyness. At Phil’s words, Dan felt himself relax considerably.

“I would like that,” he admitted, and finally rose from the piano to approach the sofa. He sat down several inches away from Phil, feeling the nervousness rise again. He wanted very much to be close to Phil, but he had been fighting these feelings for so long that it was difficult to let down those barriers.

Phil held out his hand, and Dan took it. It was warm and soft, and Phil’s touch helped him relax further. This was not so frightening.

They sat together, just talking about this and that, until the evening grew quite late. Phil held Dan’s hand the entire time, occasionally gently stroking the skin of Dan’s fingers with his own thumb. As the hours passed, Dan grew sleepy and scooted closer to Phil so that their bodies touched slightly alongside each other, and then he let his head fall to rest on Phil’s shoulder. He heard and felt Phil sigh at that touch, and both their bodies relaxed even more.

This was what he had wanted. This closeness. This intimacy.

He felt Phil turn his head to press a kiss to Dan’s hair.

This was perfect.

 

* * *

 

**12 October 1939**

They spent most evenings just as they had previously—playing chess at the club, dining out, going to the occasional film—but now they also spent time alone at Dan’s flat. At Phil’s home, they still maintained a semblance of propriety lest they put Gemma or Mrs. Jameson in the awkward position of keeping their secret, but at Dan’s home, they could behave however they liked.

Dan found this freedom terrifying. It wasn’t the societal disapproval he feared, for he knew that few would think anything ill of two bachelors spending time together—not as they would if it were a man and woman spending time alone—it was merely his own nervousness.

He ran to the door when he heard the bell, knowing it would be Phil. He welcomed him into his home and hung up his coat as always, then explained, “I’m cooking something from your sister-in-law’s family cookbook for dinner. If you want to just relax in the lounge, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Phil smiled. “Something from Cornelia’s cookbook? What is it? May I help?”

They worked together in the kitchen as if they’d been doing it for years, as if they could read exactly when to move out of each other’s way and when to move forward to accomplish a task. It felt almost like dancing. In fact, it felt far  _better_  than any dancing Dan had ever done.

When they’d finished their meal—and Dan would need to send another thank you card to Cornelia for the cookbook—they retired to the sofa, where they reclined in each other’s arms as they had taken to doing lately. They barely spoke except in the quietest tones. These times were not for conversation—they could have that at the club or other public places, or even more privately over dinner here at Dan’s flat—these times were for sharing the private intimacy of each other’s embrace.

“This is my favorite thing in the entire world,” Dan whispered.

“What is?” Phil asked quietly.

“This,” Dan replied, his voice firm though still nearly a whisper. “This.” He squeezed Phil in his arms and kissed his cheek softly. “This.” He stroked a hand along the length of Phil’s arm until he could entwine his fingers with Phil’s. “This. All of this.” He sighed and felt a greater happiness than he could ever remember. “Just … you.”

Phil turned his head to look at Dan, his face serious. In a film, if they were a man and a woman, this was where Dan would kiss his lover, and he saw the desire in Phil’s eyes, but something inside Dan wasn’t ready for that, and so he leaned to press a kiss to Phil’s temple instead, then turned his head aside in what he hoped was a casual motion, pulling Phil into his arms again and wishing he wasn’t such a coward.

 

* * *

 

**13 October 1939**

Dan couldn’t help but notice it.

It was glaringly obvious.

They wrote such ardent proclamations in their letters, and yet when they were together they never even acknowledged those impassioned pledges of their love. Their interactions on paper flamed with longing, but their interactions in person were, by comparison, timid. Perhaps Phil might become less interested if he believed Dan’s passion as expressed on paper did not reflect Dan’s true feelings. Perhaps Dan might lose Phil, simply because he was too hesitant to share something so simple as a kiss?

He sat down to write Phil a letter, since he seemed better able to express himself that way.

-

_13 October 1939_

_My dearest Philip,_

_I have savored the many hours we have spent together these past weeks, particularly the sweet solitude and comfort we have found in each other’s arms. Those moments when we have held each other close and I have heard your heart beat with mine, felt your breath on my hair and skin, have been more dear to me than you can imagine._

_Does it not seem strange to you, however, that we have expressed our emotions so openly in our letters, and yet we never speak of such things when we are together? I fear that you may begin to doubt my passionate feelings for you because I do not speak of them when I am in your presence, but I must admit that words fail me when we are together._

_In truth, I fear that you will doubt my feelings for you as a result of not only this but also my additional hesitation regarding advancing our physical intimacy. I am neither blind nor stupid. I am, of course, aware that there have been numerous opportunities for us to share the pleasure that can only be experienced through the sweetness of lovers’ lips meeting in true devotion. Yet I fear I am not yet ready for that particular intimacy, though I must admit I cannot fathom why. It certainly is not due to any lack of feeling on my part._

_And so I find myself in an unenviable position. I love you with all my unworthy heart, and yet I cannot find the strength to voice these intense emotions, nor can I find the courage to express them through a simple kiss. How can you continue to desire the affections of a man with so little fortitude in the face of love?_

_Please know this: I do love you. I may not speak it in words or show it by my actions, but I feel it in my heart. And if I can only express it through letters on a page, then I shall write them again and again so that you do not doubt my love. And when your fingers touch my skin, when your hand holds mine, when our eyes meet, I know that you love me, too. Perhaps it does not matter if we only ever use that word on paper. Does that make it any less real?_

_Yours with the most fervent and devoted love,_

_Daniel_

 

* * *

 

**15 October 1939**

Work at the BBC felt like torture sometimes, as Dan tried to avoid gazing at Phil with an obviously love-drunk expression. He wanted only to spend as much time with Phil as possible, but their time together at work required them to play-act in more ways than the usual. They performed their roles in the current play, of course, but they also performed their roles as men who were merely friendly, hiding the truth of their relationship, the truth of their feelings. If anyone were to suspect the reality of their situation, it could put more than their careers at risk.

And so they smiled and shook hands and patted each other on the back and behaved in every way as if they did not long to be in each others arms as soon as possible.

Sometimes they were so eager to be alone that they simply went directly to Dan’s flat after work. One evening, after doing just that, Dan had barely closed the door before Phil took him in his arms and said firmly, “I love you. I understand if you aren’t ready to say it, but I want you to hear me say it out loud and not just in writing. I love you, Dan Howell. I’m in love with you, and that will never change. Even if you’re never ready to say it, even if we never kiss … no matter what, the fact that I love you will never change.”

Dan blushed. “You got my letter.”

Phil pulled away slightly to look into Dan’s eyes. “I got your letter. And if you want to write me letters again, you can, but you don’t have to worry that I’m going to lose faith in your love. It’s in every touch of your hand against mine. It’s in your eyes every time you look at me. I don’t need the words, Dan. And, as for the kissing…”

Dan interrupted him. “I’m so sorry…”

But Phil interrupted his interruption. “If someday you’re ready, I think it’ll be spectacular. But I’m in no hurry. I’m not going anywhere.” And then he pulled Dan close again, and they just held each other. And something tense inside Dan eased a bit.

 

* * *

 

**20 October 1939**

Usually Dan struggled with shyness far more than Phil, so it was strange to see the older man hesitate so much about anything. They lay on Dan’s sofa together such that Dan couldn’t see Phil’s face, but he heard the uncertainty in his voice.

“You may not remember,” Phil began, then added, “it didn’t seem like an important date at the time … but … it’s been nearly a year since we first met at the BBC, and ... this may seem ridiculous ... I would very much like to somehow acknowledged the start of this magnificent year. My life changed that day, and it seems only right to mark it somehow.”

“You want to celebrate our anniversary,” Dan realized. He’d never celebrated any kind of anniversary before, aside from birthdays, but this one suddenly seemed important. “Yes,” he said softly. “We should.” He adjusted their positions so that he could gaze at Phil’s face, remembering that first day at the BBC, remembering his own nervousness and how handsome Phil had looked in his expensive, ill-fitting suit, with his hair so smooth and his smile so delightfully impish even though they had just met. “My life changed that day, too.” He ran his hands through Phil’s hair and smiled. “Before I walked into that room, I could never have imagined I would ever be this happy.”

Phil ducked his head in embarrassment, probably still recovering from working up his courage to suggest the celebration, then looked up again to meet Dan’s eyes and said, “I feel precisely the same.”

 

* * *

 

**28 October 1939**

It seemed impossible that it had been only a year since that day they first met, and yet the calendar did not lie.

Phil had made reservations at one of the more posh restaurants in London, an establishment that most likely would not even have admitted Dan if he weren’t with someone as fine as Phil.

The meal was delicious, the wine was perfection, the plates were beautifully presented, but Dan simply could not look away from Phil. He was wearing his well-fitted tuxedo tonight and looked far more attractive than the food.

The candle between them on the table flickered subtle shadows across Phil’s face, and Dan gazed as if hypnotized. Phil’s skin, usually pale as the finest porcelain, now seemed to glow the delicate gold they’d seen in the earliest moments of the sunrise they’d watched together in the back garden of his parents’ home.

It had only happened once. They’d stayed up all night talking, then gone out to the garden together and watched the sun slowly peek above the horizon. It was the golden light of that early morning sunrise in the countryside that he saw in Phil’s face now. No city sunrise could compare to that one, that sunrise over the willows, and Dan suddenly wanted to tell Phil, “You’re beautiful,” but he knew he couldn’t.

He glanced around at the other tables in the restaurant, the other diners. So many people.

“Won’t people talk?” he asked Phil nervously. “Two men, dining together in such a romantic setting?”

Phil smiled at him, the sunrise flickering on his curving lips, and said, “It’s only romantic because it’s us.” Dan frowned in confusion, so Phil explained, “Businessmen bring clients here all the time, wanting to impress them. If you look at the other tables, you’ll see more than one of them also contains two men in conversation.”

Dan looked around them again and saw that Phil was correct. While some tables contained romantic couples—men and women holding hands or gazing at each other with love clear in their eyes—other tables showed men in business attire, involved in more staid conversation.

If any of them knew how he felt about Phil, if any of them had noticed the love in his own eyes as he gazed at that dear face … he did not like to think of the potential repercussions. Instead, he tried to relax, knowing that they were not as conspicuous as he had feared. He glanced around them again and then took the chance.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered to Phil with his golden sunrise skin and the candlelight reflected in his eyes even through the spectacles. Phil’s smile softened, and a rosy blush on his cheeks blended with the amber from the candlelight. Dan wished that he could reach across the table to take Phil’s hand—as free as those other couples—but he settled for the emotion he saw in Phil’s beloved face as they gazed at each other for one illicit moment.

Then Dan cleared his throat and looked down at his plate, picking up his fork again and taking another bite of his food, unable to keep the secret smile from his lips even as he ate.

 

* * *

 

**3 November 1939**

They came in the door of Dan’s flat in mid-conversation, and Dan absentmindedly leafed through the post as usual, but then he stopped hearing what Phil was saying and just stared at the familiar handwriting on the envelope in his hand.

Phil noticed the change immediately. “What is it? What’s wrong? Dan, what’s wrong?”

Dan looked up and forced a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. Just … a letter from my mother.”

Phil frowned in confusion. As close as he was to his own family, of course he would not understand. And he also was not in Dan’s difficult circumstances. All his own fault, of course, but the difficulty of the circumstances remained.

“She’ll have glowing news of Dora,” Dan explained, trying to keep his voice even. “And I’m not really in any mood to be thinking of anyone else right now, not when all I can think of is you.” He raised his eyes from the envelope to gaze at Phil.

But Phil’s eyes fell and he bit his lip for just a moment. “But … she is still your fiancée, Dan. You cannot ignore her forever.”

Dan stared at Phil in surprise. Phil never mentioned Dora. Never. Dan had thought they had a mutual understanding that they wouldn’t allow her to invade the private sanctuary of their relationship.

But who was he kidding? She’d been there from the start.

Dan’s hand tightened without him realizing it, and he crumpled the envelope. He loosened his grip immediately, then placed the letter on the table near the door. “I’ll read it later,” he said grimly. “When I’m able to bear it.”

Dan walked into the lounge and removed his coat, but realized that Phil hadn’t moved from the entryway, where he stood watching Dan with an unreadable expression. Dan knew he must seem callous, deceitful, the worst sort of man. How could Phil love a betrayer like him?

“Please don’t hate me,” Dan whispered, watching Phil’s face for any change of expression. “Please. I couldn’t stand it.”

Phil’s expression softened, but he didn’t move. “Will you marry her, Dan? Will you, truly?”

The question, asked in so mournful a voice, broke Dan’s heart. But what could he say? That he had made promises years ago ... to Dora, to his family, to himself, to society? That he’d dug himself into a hole so deep he couldn’t even see out anymore? That he couldn’t say yes, but couldn’t say no? That he had no other option but to stay stuck in this same holding pattern forever or everything would shatter?

Should he say that he had family obligations? Were those obligations more important than love?

“I never loved her, you know,” Dan mused, engulfed by his own guilt but not answering Phil’s question, unable to answer it. “I don’t think she ever loved me, either. She just loves being engaged. It isn’t about me, specifically. And I don’t think she even really wants to be married. I think being engaged just seems … romantic.”

After a long, awkward pause, Dan gathered his courage and spoke again. “There’s never been anyone for me but you,” he admitted on the slightest breath. “No one but you.”

Phil finally walked to him and lifted Dan’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm. “I’ve never loved anyone but you, either,” he replied, looking into Dan’s eyes and using the word Dan had still not spoken. “I never will.”

They gazed at each other in silence for a long time, and then Dan asked hesitantly, “Will you … would you perhaps … maybe come lie down with me … in my bed … not to … not to do anything improper…”

Phil’s smile was sad when he interrupted gently, “Let’s go lie down together and just let everything be quiet for a while.” And he hung up his coat.

Dan led him to his bedroom and they both removed their shoes before climbing onto the bed and lying fully clothed on top of the duvet, facing each other, gazing into each other’s eyes. Dan slid a hand into the space between them on the bed, and Phil took it, giving it a slight squeeze, which Dan returned with silent gratitude.

Dan thought of the first time they’d held hands, lying on the grass under that starry sky, and how simple it had all felt that night. He wished it could always feel that simple.

 

* * *

 

**15 November 1939**

“This is Samuel Barber’s ‘Adagio for Strings,’” Dan explained as he placed a record on the gramophone one evening in his lounge.

They lay together on the sofa, listening, while Dan stroked a hand through Phil’s hair. “I used to sit here and listen to this and think of you.” He remembered many a night before he’d received that first letter from Phil.

Phil turned his head to look up at Dan’s face. “You thought of me? But … the music sounds so sad. Did thinking of me make you feel like … this?” He gestured toward the gramophone, his face forlorn.

Dan traced Phil’s cheekbone with a finger and smiled gently. “Thinking of never being with you made me feel like this.”

Phil laid his head back onto Dan’s chest and they continued listening. The music built from its plaintive slowness into a soaring swell of emotion before subsiding again, and it wasn’t until after the gramophone fell silent that Phil asked softly, “Does it still make you think of me when you hear it?”

Dan nodded, assuming Phil would feel the movement through his chest.

“And does it still make you sad?” Phil asked, his voice small and uncertain.

Dan stroked Phil’s hair again and leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead. “Now I hear in it the joy that is felt only more strongly because it grows out of the very depths of despair. So no, Phil, it doesn’t make me sad. It reminds me that I  _was_  sad, and that it’s only because of how sad I was in the past that I can truly appreciate the happiness I have with you now.”

 

* * *

 

**23 November 1939**

Weak sunlight shone down through the windows of Phil’s solarium, where he and Dan had been sitting for quite some time among the plants that stayed lush and verdant year round. With all the windows, the room was slightly chill, but some kind of magic seemed to keep the air warmer than it should be, warm enough to keep the plants thriving.

Gemma had brought them coffee twice, but had otherwise left them to their own devices for hours.

They’d taken turns reading Henry James’s “The Turn of the Screw,” eager to discuss the controversial novella together.

“There were ghosts!” Phil insisted. “The ghosts were definitely real! You can’t tell me all those horrible things were all in that woman’s head. I don’t believe it.”

Dan mused, “It’s an effective horror story either way … perhaps even more so if all of the evil comes from within the woman’s own psyche. The most horrible things are, after all, the ones that come from inside us.”

Phil gave him a look filled with startled hurt, and Dan realized that—given their situation and Dan’s history—he might have sounded like he was talking about something more than the book.

He reached across to take Phil’s hand, and Phil smiled, but the hurt hadn’t left his eyes.

 

* * *

 

**22 December 1939**

Christmastime with the Lester family was even more enjoyable the second time round, because Dan now felt much more comfortable and at ease. He’d brought presents for everyone, with significant helpful guidance from Phil, and had been less overwhelmed by the kindness they all showed a near stranger.

In truth, he no longer felt like a stranger in the Lester home. They had welcomed him so thoroughly on those previous occasions that he now felt nearly a part of the family. More so, perhaps, than with his own family in Wokingham.

The night before Dan was set to leave, Phil harassed him relentlessly for attention.

“Come outside for a walk!” Phil urged him, practically bouncing up and down. It was late enough in the evening that the other Lesters had all gone to bed already, and Dan himself might have also been tempted to retire if Phil’s company weren’t an even greater temptation. “The moon is full,” Phil coaxed, “and you can’t imagine what it looks like when there’s this much snow and a full moon!”

Dan rolled his eyes and whinged, “It’s really cold out there.”

“So wear a coat,” Phil replied simply. “And a scarf! Come on!”

With a sigh, Dan put on his warm gear and they headed out into the wintery night. They walked in silence, seeing their breath in the air before them, and Phil reached out to hold Dan’s gloved hand. Even through both their gloves, it made Dan feel warmer.

When they reached the top of a hill, Phil stopped and pointed. “Look,” he told Dan, and Dan saw the entire hillside stretched below them to the trees and river below. The moon reflected off the river as if it were a winding strand of silver or diamond. Dan caught his breath.

“You were right,” he said softly. “It’s worth coming out into the cold for this.” He turned to look at Phil and saw how the moonlight silvered his skin as well, and his spectacles shone so that Dan could not see his eyes and so had no warning when Phil leaned forward and very gently, briefly, pressed their cold lips together. He quickly pulled away, looking terrified, as if uncertain of Dan’s response, and so Dan made sure to leave him in no suspense. Putting one hand on the back of Phil’s neck, Dan pressed their lips together again, this time more firmly, but was concerned when Phil pulled away from his grasp. Had he taken things too far? He’d never kissed anyone before, so perhaps he had botched the job and ruined everything. He began to step away, but then saw that Phil was removing his spectacles, his face more intent than Dan had ever seen it before.

Phil pulled the fragile metal frames from his face, folded them, placed them carefully in his front shirt pocket, and then pulled Dan to him in a kiss that lasted long enough to warm them both thoroughly despite the snow.

When they finally reluctantly pulled apart, Phil’s eyes without spectacles were dazzling in the moonlight reflected off the snow. He gazed directly at Dan and said very softly, very firmly, “I love you.”

Dan gazed mutely into Phil’s beautiful moonlit face. He wished he could repeat aloud those words he had written so often, but something continued to hold him silent. He gazed at Phil in anguish. He could see his own panting breath, as if it embodied the ghostly form of all he could not speak.

Phil shook his head slightly and said with a gentle smile, “Don’t worry so much. I don’t need you to say it. Your lips said more with that kiss than they ever could with words.” And then he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Dan’s one more time in a last whisper of a kiss before he pulled away to take Dan’s hand and suggest, “Shall we walk along the river for a bit?”

They walked in silence, their gloved hands clasped together, until finally Dan admitted quietly, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” He glanced nervously at Phil to see if he would smile, if he would be amused by Dan’s inexperience.

But he saw Phil frown instead, apparently confused. “Not even Dora?” he asked. His voice choked a bit when he spoke her name, and it made Dan’s chest hurt.

“Only ever on the cheek,” Dan replied. Then he hesitated before adding, “I’ve never  _wanted_  to kiss anyone else. Not before you.”

Then Phil did smile, admitting sheepishly, “I’ve never kissed anyone before, either.” They squeezed each other’s hands and grinned.

“We did a fairly good job of it, don’t you think?” Dan mused, feeling a giddy joy rush through him.

“Ten out of ten, I’m sure,” Phil replied, and they both started giggling there in the snow.

 

* * *

 

**23 December 1939**

In the morning, goodbyes involved a flurry of hugs at the front door, including more than one from Steven, who had been a delight during the entire visit and was old enough now to understand the concept of hugging. In fact, he had doled out hugs liberally throughout Dan’s visit, and Dan had found it adorable every time the tiny arms had wrapped around his neck while the baby cried out gleefully, “Hug!”

Dan didn’t get a private moment alone with Phil before he boarded his train, so he just held that snowy moonlit moment on the hill close to his heart during the entire trip to visit his family. He would use it to keep him warm during the next several days.

 

* * *

 

**25 December 1939**

Dan sat at the Reading railway station, head hanging down as he debated with himself which ticket to buy. He knew where he wanted to be tonight, and that was with Phil. He imagined himself showing up on the Lesters’ doorstep on Christmas night, covered in snow after a two-mile walk from the station.

“What are you doing here?” Phil would cry, ushering him inside and pushing him to sit near the fire as he removed his snow-covered coat and scarf. Dan would be shivering, not only in response to the cold weather but also from the extreme emotions running through him.

Mrs. Lester would bring him mulled wine and a warm blanket that she would place lovingly around his shoulders. She would give him a kiss on his snow-wetted hair and chide him for not phoning from the station so that they could come to collect him.

None of them would ask why he was there. None of them would ask what had happened in Wokingham, why he wasn’t with his own family. None of them would pry or judge. They would simply welcome him with affection and accept him without question. Phil would sit at his side in front of the fire and hold Dan’s hands to warm them in his own gentle grasp.

But then the image of himself sitting by the Lesters’ fireside with his mulled wine and warm blanket vanished, because Dan knew he couldn’t do that to Phil. Arriving uninvited on the family doorstep on Christmas night showed a presumptuousness that Dan simply didn’t possess. It implied something about the importance of their relationship that Phil might not want to have to explain to his family.

So Dan ignored his fanciful imagined scene and approached the ticket window to buy his ticket back to London. His cold and empty flat awaited him there, but he would not inconvenience anyone else with his own problems this way.

He sat down on a bench and waited for the train that would take him to the only place he could now call home.

 

* * *

 

**31 December 1939**

Dan avoided Phil’s eyes throughout the New Year’s Eve broadcast. Well, to be honest, he avoided everyone’s eyes. He knew what he looked like. In the mirror this morning, he’d seen a shadow of himself, a face that was haunted and hollow.

He’d done it. He’d finally done it. But it didn’t feel freeing, as he’d thought it would. It felt like he’d lost his moorings, like he’d cast himself adrift from everything he’d ever known.

More than anything, he felt alone. And he lingered repeatedly over the cruel words that were perhaps the last he would ever hear from the people he had thought loved him.

When the broadcast was over, he left as quickly as possible. He knew Phil would be confused, but he just did not feel able to talk about it yet, did not feel able to explain his conflicting emotions and this sadness that weighed at his dreams of potential happiness. He had thrown away everything he’d ever known … and he’d done it for Phil.

No, that wasn’t fair. He’d done it for himself. He’d done it to be true to who he really was inside, something he’d never done before. The thought buoyed him up, reminding him that what he had done had been a step forward, after so many years of stagnation and fear. His head lifted a little higher, and his heart felt considerably lighter.

About three hours after the broadcast had ended, he heard the bell ring at his door. He instinctively knew it would be Phil, and it was. He looked extremely cold, standing on the doorstep in the rain with his arms wrapped protectively around himself, but he also looked utterly wretched. Before Dan could even invite him in, he blurted out, “I hoped you would come to me, to tell me what I had done wrong, but then I realized that no, of course you would not come to my house, because whatever you have to say must be of a very personal nature, and so you could not risk Gemma’s overhearing, or Mrs. Jameson’s. And so I decided that I must come here, to you, even if you do not want me, for I find that I cannot bear it. I must know what is wrong, what I have done to push you away. Should I not have kissed you that night? It felt right, but … did you later change your mind and come to regret it?”

Glancing around to see if anyone might have heard Phil’s unthinkingly incriminating words, Dan saw no one nearby and urged Phil inside where he insisted on taking his soaking wet coat, though Phil struggled with him, trying to gaze into Dan’s face instead of turning his back to make the process easier. Dan manhandled him to remove his coat and scarf, hung them on the hook, and then enfolded the miserable man in his arms. Phil immediately began to weep, which made Dan feel like an utter cad. He should have called on Phil sooner, to tell him everything that had happened, but he hadn’t been ready to discuss it. He had never stopped to think about how Phil might feel, how Phil might interpret his silent distance.

Dan ran his hands over Phil’s rain-soaked hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong! I don’t regret anything! Those kisses with you are the most precious memories I will ever have, and I could never ever regret them!”

Phil pulled away to look into his face, his eyes filled with confusion and sorrow. “Then why?”

Before Phil could continue, Dan rushed to interject, “After that moment with you in the snow, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. When I got to Wokingham … things didn’t go well, Phil. I … I broke things off with Dora. My parents didn’t … they’ve always wanted me to live a normal life, you know? And breaking my engagement … they demanded to know why. I didn’t tell them the full truth, but I did say that I would never marry any woman, and … they … well, they kicked me out, Phil. They told me I had shamed them, that I was an embarrassment to my family and that they never wanted to see me again. They said … many other hurtful things, as well. It was horrible. Worse than I’d ever feared when I imagined the possibility. And so now I am alone, rejected by my family. Perhaps our relationship had never been perfect, but now … I am for all intents and purposes an orphan, Phil. Because of my own actions. My own choices.”

Now it was Phil who took Dan into his arms and held him very very tightly. “You will never be alone, Dan. Never! It isn’t only me that loves you! Think of my family, only days ago, and how they care for you! Think of little Steven’s arms around your neck! You are not an orphan, and you are not alone. You have people who love you. People who love you the way you deserve to be loved, and not just for what they expect you to be, what they expect you to do for them.”

Dan tried to pull away, but Phil would not let him. “Your family … if they knew…”

“They wouldn’t care,” Phil replied. “They love you for who you are. And they have never judged me. We may not have discussed the subject openly, but they have always accepted that I’m different, that I am what many call ‘a confirmed bachelor.’ And if they knew I had found love, they would only be happy for me. And for you.”

Dan shook his head in despair. “But how can you know that? How can you know they would accept you? That they would accept us?”

Phil pulled his hands up to cup Dan’s face, and his hands were cold and wet but Dan didn’t care. He cared only that the hands he loved were holding him, and the eyes he loved were gazing at him with absolute adoration. “I know because I know my family, and I know how they love. They love with acceptance and compassion. They might be confused, but they would try to understand, rather than rejecting what they do not know. I know my family, Dan, and they already love you. If they knew how we love each other, I think they would be happy for us. In truth, I think they may already have guessed. My mother said some things on our visit for your birthday that made me wonder.” He smiled tentatively at Dan. “Could you accept my family’s love in exchange for that of your own parents? I know it is not the same, but…”

Dan interrupted, “Yes, your family are lovely people, of course. I just think perhaps you overestimate their capacity for acceptance.”

“We shall see,” Phil replied. “Over the years, we shall see. Because I plan to be by your side for years, Dan Howell. If you will have me.”

Tears sprang to Dan’s eyes, and he crushed Phil in his arms. “If I’ll have you,” he scoffed on a watery laugh. “I love you, Phil Lester. I love you! I know I’ve never said the words aloud, only written them in letters, but it is true. I love you, and I could not continue that farce of an engagement any longer, though I knew the consequences would be dire. I could not play at love with another person now that I know the full truth of it with you. So if you will have me, I will be by your side as long as you allow.”

“Then we shall be together forever,” Phil replied with a laugh, pulling away so that he could wipe at Dan’s tears. When he felt Dan’s fingers wiping at his own cheeks, he seemed to realize that he hadn’t wiped his own tears away before worrying about Dan’s. “I know this is not romantic at such a moment, but perhaps I should go fetch some handkerchieves,” he suggested with a self-conscious chuckle. Dan laughed and nodded. But Phil did not walk away without pulling Dan into his arms one more time, holding him close, as if he were precious, and whispering into his ear. “I love you, Dan Howell. I love you forever.” Then he kissed Dan’s ear and pulled away to go in search of handkerchieves.

They ended up lying down to talk on the sofa, unable to stay even an inch away from each other, holding each other as they lay against the cushions and talked in soft voices, as Dan told Phil about his family kicking him out on Christmas Day, about sitting at the Reading train station, unsure where to go.

“You should have come to us,” Phil chided him gently. “You know we would have welcomed you without a second thought. My mother would have been deliriously happy to have another mouth to feed, and Steven would have hugged you and slobbered all down your neck.” They both laughed quietly at the image.

“He was really almost offensively adorable this year,” Dan said into Phil’s chest. “Imagine next year when he’ll be talking more!”

“You’ll be there,” Phil said firmly. “You’ll be there with me to listen to him babble and watch him walk and help us all keep him from killing himself in all the ways toddlers endanger their lives nearly every moment.”

Dan chuckled into Phil’s shirt, and then they lay quiet for a long time. Phil held Dan partially on top of him so that they could both fit on the sofa, and they were as close as they could possibly be.

Well, not completely.

After a long internal debate and a great deal of nervous hesitation, Dan slowly unbuttoned the top button of Phil’s shirt, afraid to look up at Phil’s face. He heard Phil’s breath catch. He glanced up tentatively, and Phil’s face was tense, but he made no objection.

Dan unbuttoned the second button and slid his hand inside Phil’s shirt, just gliding one finger gently along Phil’s collarbone

Phil’s breath was shaky, so Dan asked uncertainly, “Is this all right?” Instead of answering, Phil pulled him up to kiss him greedily. This wasn’t like the kisses on the hilltop in the snow—it was raw and sensual. It was everything Dan had wanted without realizing it, everything he had refused to think about because he knew it was impossible. But he was thinking about it now.

Phil pulled Dan’s shirt out of his trousers and slid hot hands up along Dan’s bare back, making Dan tremble. Phil kissed Dan’s neck and murmured, “Is this all right?”

Dan bit his lip. “Would you … would you like to come to the bedroom?”

 

* * *

 

Before that night, they’d done nothing illegal, but had only to avoid giving the impression of it. Now, they were both painfully aware that they were breaking the law and could be prosecuted for simply expressing their love for each other. Most nights, Phil returned to his own home to sleep, so that they could maintain the fiction of mere friendship. But on the nights when they could not bear to part and, instead, slept all night in each other’s arms, they emerged in the morning in utter trepidation.

Once, Dan noticed a neighbor woman look at them askance as she came out in her robe and slippers to pick up the morning paper. Two young men emerging from one house in the morning? Dan could only hope that she assumed he had a brother and that she would not report them simply for suspicions of lewd behavior.

Despite the dangers, they lived the following two weeks in a bliss Dan had never imagined he might experience in his lifetime. Every moment that they could be alone together was precious.

They were truly happy. For the first time in both their lives, they were both truly, fully, ecstatically happy.

And then the conscription letter came.

 

* * *

 

**19 January 1940**

Dan and Phil lay together in bed, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, and said nothing. If either of them spoke, tears would certainly come.

Finally, Dan found the strength to say softly, “I have nearly two weeks before I must leave. We must make the most of that time. I may not come back…”

Phil interrupted him, pulling away to stare angrily into his face. “Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you  _dare_  say that!” Just as Dan had suspected would happen, tears streamed from his eyes. “You will go to this bloody war and you will come back, and we will spend the rest of our lives together and we won’t care who knows it! We’ll … we’ll get a flat together … or buy a house! We’ll be together every day until we’re old men fighting over pages of the newspaper.” He clutched Dan’s shoulders in a painful grip and repeated desperately, “You  _will_  come back. You  _will_  come back to me. Swear it. Swear that you’ll come back to love and pester me every day of our lives until we’re old and gray.”

Dan wrestled Phil into his arms and squeezed him tightly, trying to calm his distress. “I promise,” he said softly into Phil’s ear. “I promise I’ll come home to you. I’ll come home to you, and we’ll buy that house, and we won’t care what the neighbors think. We’ll just live our lives together and love each other forever. Just like we said. Together forever, right?”

“You’ll be so far away,” Phil mourned, “and in danger…”

“But tonight I’m here, love,” Dan said gently, “and we have two more weeks. Let us make the most of our time.”

“And I’ll write to you,” Phil said suddenly. “I’ll write to you faithfully. I don’t want you to forget me while you’re gone.”

Dan smoothed Phil’s hair back away from his face. “I could never forget you. Never in a thousand lifetimes. But please do write to me, and I will write to you as much as I am able.”

Phil turned his head to press a kiss to Dan’s palm, and Dan smiled at him. He was frightened of war, frightened of dying—he would not lie about that—but he was more frightened at the thought that, if that happened, it would mean losing all the years he could have spent with Phil.

“Hold me,” he asked Phil, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and very frightened. “Hold me and help me forget that we’ll ever be apart. Because I want always to be with you. Every single day. And every single day we’re apart will hurt. So … please … take away some of that hurt, and some of that fear. Hold me and help me forget everything but you. Everything but how much I love you, and how much you love me in return.”

“I love you more than I could ever hope to convey with words,” Phil said, gazing at Dan now with determination. His tears had stopped and he seemed like a general going into battle. “I love you enough that the very force of my love will keep you safe and bring you back to me. I will not permit it to be any other way.” He kissed Dan deeply, slowly. “But, for now, let me show you what that love means today.”

And they did. For two weeks, they did.

And then Dan left for the training camp in Dorset where he would prepare to fight in the Second World War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go, and I hope to post it within the next couple weeks, though I may be delayed by family holiday stuff and not have a chance before the new year.

**Author's Note:**

> My current plan is to post a chapter of this fic each week ... and, as always, you can also find me on Tumblr at @adorkablephil. Feel free to say hi any time!


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